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THE 


ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD; 


SHOWING 


WHO  BOBBED  BIS.  WHO  HELPED  III  J.  AW)  WHO  PASSED  HIM  BY. 


W.  M.  THACKERAY, 


AUTHOR  of 

"  VANITY   !  riTP    NEWCOMESy'   'THE   VIRGINIANS,"   «  PENDKN. 

M>."  •  TBE  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS  OB  THE  EIGHTEENTH 
;RY,"  'THi;  Jt'OUIt  GORGES,''  etc.,  etc., 


» V  TT*  l#'V 


WITH  TLLUiST .RATIONS. 


COLUMBIA,  S.  C. 
I :  V  A  N  S    A  N  13    C  O  G  S  W  E  I ,  L  . 

1864. 


jr/AYr 


mtt 


COLUMBIA.!. C 


WILLIAM       MAK E PEAC E    THACKERAY 


the 


ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD ; 


SHOWING 


WHO  BOBBED  HIM,  WHO  HELPED  HIM,  AND  WHO  PASSED  HII  BY. 


W.  M.  THACKERAY, 


'AUTHOR  OP 

"  VANITY  FAIR,"   "THE   NEWCOMES,"   "THE   VTRGINTANS,"   "  PENDEN- 

EIS,"  "THE  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS  OF  THE  EIGHTEENTH 

CENTURY/'  "  THE  FOUR  GEORGES,"  etc.,  etc., 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


COLUMBIA,  S.  C. 
•     EVANS    AND    COGSWELL 

1864. 


BVAN3  &  COGSWELL,  PRINTERS,   COLUMBIA,   S.  C. 


Ikk. 


•#;: 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.  Page. 

Doctor  Fell 0 

CHAPTER  II. 
At  School  and  at  Home 17 

CHAPTER  III. 
A  Consultation , 25 

CHAPTER  IV. 
A  Genteel  Family 32 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  Nodle  Kinsman 43 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Brandon's 57 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Impletdr  veteris  Bacchi 68 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Will  be  pronounced  to  be  Cynical  by  the  Benevolent 81 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Contains  one  Riddle  which  is  solved,  and  perhaps  some  more      87 

CHAPTER  X. 
In  which  we  visit  "Admiral  Bvng" 90 

CHAPTER  XI. 
In  which  Philip  is  very  ill-tempered.. 105 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Damocles "• m 


\  i  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XIII.  Pago. 

mi;  LoVl  MY  I>0(; ' 133 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
C       . ;  ns-1  w  «•  oi  Philip's  Mishaps 143 

CHAPTER   XV. 
Samaritans 159 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
[■  w  iih  ii  Philip  shows  mis  Mettle *  165 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
l'.i:,  flS  MM   [lABOBO 182 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

I»UI  M   JMT'.s   So  WOHL  Mill  IN  DH9  WeLT 191 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
i,ii  'oh  bst  Bun  a  xisc.t  ans 207 

CHAPTER  XX. 
H  of  Thus  Love 218 

CHAPTER  XXL 
Tki:ats  of  1> anci.no,  Dinino,  Dying 231 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
i'i  i.\  is  i.t  Umbra  Sumcs 247 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
In  wiik  n  wm  still  bothb  about  the  Elysian  Fields 255 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
\i  .    DULOHl  amoiikh  Si-erne,  Puer,  Xeqce  tu  Choreas 271 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Inkandi  Doloiu:h 280 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Cohtai:<8  a  Tito  ov  War 294 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
I  0HAROM  vor,  j. no !•  rouH  Daggers  ! 804 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
In  which  Mrs.  Macwiurter  has  a  new  Punnet 316 


CONTENTS.  Vii 

CHAPTER  XXIX.  Page. 

In  the  Departments  of  Seine,  Loire,  and  Styx  (inferieur).  .    328 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
Returns  to  old  Friends « ; .    341 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
Narrates  that  famous  Joke  about  JVIiss  Grigsby . .    361 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
Ways  and  Means 3GS 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
Describes  a  Situation  interesting  but  not  unexpected 377 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
In  which  I  own  that  Philip  tells  an  Untruth 385 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
Res  Angusta  Domi 401 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
In  which  Philip  wears  a  "\V;g 413 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
Nice  plena  Cruoris  Hirudo 425 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
Tun  bearer  of  Tnn  Bow-String » 436 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
In  which  several  People  have  their  Trials 449 

CHAPTER  XL. 
In  which  the  Luck  goes  very  much  against  is 454 

CHAPTER  XLI. 
In  which  we  reach  the  Last  Stage  but  onii  of  this  Journey.     173 

CHAPTER  XLII. 
Thi  Realms  of.  Bliss 177 


I> 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


CHAPTER  I. 

DOCTOR    FELL 


"Not  atteud  her  own  son  when  he  is  ill!"  said  my  mother. 
"She  does  not  deserve  to, have  a. son!"  And  Mrs.  Pendennis 
looked  toward  her  own  only  darling  while  uttering  this  indig- 
nant exclamation.  As  she  looked  I  know  what  passed  through 
her  mind.  She  nursed  me,' she  dressed  me  in  little  caps  and 
long-clothes,  she  attired  me  in  my  first  jacket  and  trowsers.  She 
watched  at  my  bedside  through  my  infantile  and  juvenile  ail- 
ments. She  tended  me  through  all  my  life;  she  held  me  to  her 
heart  with  infinite  prayers  and  blessings.  She  is  no  longer  with 
us  to  bless  and  pray ;  but  from  heaven,  where  she  is,  I  know  her 
love  pursues  me ;  and  often  and  often  I  think  she  is  here,  only 
invisible. 

"  Mrs.  Firmin  would  be  of  no  good,"  growled  Dr.  Good- 
enough.  "  She  would  have  hysterics,  and  the  nurse  would  have 
two  patients  to  look  after." 

"  Don't  tell  me"  cries  my  mother,  with  a  flush  on  her  cheeks. 
"  Do  you  suppose  if  that  child  "  (meaning,  of  course,  her  para- 
gon) "  were  ill,  I  would  not  go  to  him  ?" 

"  My  dear,  if  that  child  were  hungry  you  would  chop  off  your 
head  to  make  him  broth,"  says  the  doctor,  sipping  his  tea. 

"  Potage  a  la  bonne  femme"  says  Mr.  Pendennis.  "  Mother, 
we  have  it  at  the  club.  You  would  be  done  with  milk,  eggs, 
and  a  quantity  of  vegetables.  You  would  be  put  to  simmer  for 
many  hours  in  an  earthen  pan,  and — " 

"  Don't  be  horrible,  Arthur !"  cries  a  young  lady,  who  was  my 
mother's  companion  of  those  happy  days. 

"  And  people,  when  they  knew  you,  would  like  you  very- 
much. 

My  uncle  looked  as  if  he  did  not  understand  the  allegory. 

"  What  is  this  you  are  talking  about  ?  potage  a  la — what  d'  ye 
call  'em  V"  says  he.  "  I  thought  we  were  speaking  of  Mrs.  Firmin  ■, 
of  Old  Parr  street.  Mrs.  Firmin  is  a  doosid  delicate  woman," 
interposed  the  major.  "  All  the  females  of  that  family  are.  Her 
mother  died  early.  Her  sister,  Mrs.  Twy'sden,  is  very  delicate. 
2 


10  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

She  would  be  of  no  more  use  in  a  sick-room  than  a — than  a  bull 
in  a  china-shop,  begad !  and  she  might  catch  the  fever,  too." 

"  And  so  might  you,  major !"  cries  the  doctor.     "  Are  n't  you 
talking  to  me,  who  have  just  come  from  the  boy  ?     Keep  your 
distance,  or  I  shall  bite  you." 
•  The  old  gentleman  gave  a  little  backward  movement  with  his 

chair. 

«  Gad,  it  's  no  joking  matter,"  says  he ;  "  I  've  known  fehows 
catch  fevers  at — at  ever  so  much  past  my  age.  At  any  rate,  the 
boy  is  no  boy  of  mine,  begad  !  I  dine  at  Firmin's  house,  who 
has  married  into  a  good  family,  though  he  is  only  a  doctor, 
and—" 

"  And  pray  what  was  my  husband  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Pendenms. 

"  Only  a  doctor,  indeed!"  calls  out  Goodenough.  "  My  dear 
creature,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  give  him  the  scarlet-fever  this 
minute !" 

"  My  father  was  a  surgeon  and  apothecary,  I  have  heard," 
says  the  widow's  son. 

"  And  what  then  ?  And  I  should  like  to  know. if  a  man  of 
one  of  the  most  ancient  families  in  the  kingdom— in  the  empire, 
begad  ! — has  n't  a  right  to  pursoo  a  learned,  a  useful,  an  hotoora-. 
ble  profession.     My  brother  John  was — " 

"  A  medical  practitioner !"  I  say,  with  a  sigh. 

And  my  uncle  arranges  his  hair,  puts  his  handkerchief  to  his 
teeth,  and  says — 

"  Stuff!  nonsense — no  patience  with  these  personalities,  be- 
gad !  Firmin  is  a  doctor,  certainly — so  are  you — so  are  others. 
But  Firmin  is  a  university  man,  and  a  gentleman.  Firmin 
has  travelled.  Firmin  is  intimate  with  some  of  the  best  people 
in  England,  and  has  married  into  one  of  the  first  families.  Gad, 
sir,  do  you  suppose  that  a  woman  bred  up  in  the  lap  of  luxury 
— in  the  very  lap,  sir — at  Ringwood  and  Whipham,  and  at 
Ringwood  House,  in  Walpole  street,  where  she  was  absolute 
mistress,  begad — do  you  suppose  such  a  woman  is  fit  to  be  nurse- 
tender  in  a  sick-room  ?  She  never  ivas  fit  for  that,  or  for  any 
thing  except — "  (here  the  major  saw  smiles  on  the  countenances 
of  some  of  his  audience)  "  except,  I  say,  to  preside  at  Ringwood 
House  and- — and  adorn  society,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  And  if 
such  a  woman  chooses  to  run  away  with  her  uncle's  doctor,  and 
marry  below  her  rank — why,  /  don't  think  it 's  a  laughing  matter, 
hang  me  if  I  do." 

"  And  so  she  stops  at  the  Isle  of  Wight,  while  the  poor  boy 
remains  at  the  school,"  sighs  my  mother. 

"Firmin  can't  come  away.  He  is  in  attendance  on  the  Grand 
Dook.  The  prince  is  never  easy  without  Firmin.  He  has  given 
him  his  Order  of  the  Swan.  They  are  moving  heaven  and  earth 
in  high  quarters ;  and  I  bet  you  even,  Goodenough,  that  that 
boy  whom  vou  have  been  attending  will  be  a  baronet— if  you 


ON   UIS   WAY   THilOUGH   THIS    WORLf).  H 

don't   kill  him  off  with   your   confounded   potions    and   pills, 
begad  I  l      ' 

Dr.  Goodenough  only  gave  a  humph  and  contracted  his  creafc 
eyebrows. 

My  uncle  continued — • 

"I  know  what  you  mean.  Firmin  is  a  gentlemanly  man— a 
handsome  man.  I  remember  his  father,  Brand  Firmin,  at  Val- 
enciennes, with  the  Dook  of  York— one  of  the  handsomest  men 
m  Europe.  Firebrand  Firmin,  they  used  to  call  him— a  red- 
headed fellow — a  tremendous  duelist ;  shot  an  Irishman be- 
came serious  in  after-life,  and  that  sort  of  thing — quarrelled  with 
his  son,  who  was  doosid  wild  in  early  days.  Gentlemanly  man, 
certainly,  Firmin.  Black  hair ;  his  father  had  red.  So  much 
the  better  for  the  doctor;  but — but — we  understand  each  other, 
I  think,  Goodenough?  and  you  and  I  have  seen  some  queer 
fishes  in  our  time." 

And  the  old  gentleman  winked  and  took  his  snuff  graciously 
and,  as  it  were,  puffed  the  Firmin  subject  away. 

"  Was  it  to  show  me  a  queer  fish  that  you  took  me  to  Dr.  Fir- 
ming house  m  Parr  street  ?"  asked  Mr.  Pendennis  of  his  uncle. 
"  lhe  house  was  not  very  gay,  nor  the  mistress  very  wise,  but 
they  were  all  as  kind  as  might  be ;"  and  I  am  very  fond  of  the 
boy." 

"So  did  Lord  Ringwood,  his  mother's  uncle,  like  him,"  cried 
Major  Pendennis.  «  That  boy  brought  about  a  reconciliation 
between  his  mother  and  her  uncle,  after  her  runaway  match.  I 
suppose  you  know  she  ran  away  with  Firmin,  my  dear  ?" 

My  mother  said  «  She  had  heard  something  of  the  story  " 
And  the  major  once  more  asserted  that  Dr.  Firmin  was  a  wild 
fellow  twenty  years  ago.  At  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing  he 
was  Physician  to  the  Plethoric  Hospital,  Physician  to  the  Grand 
-  Duke  of  Groningen,  and  knight  of  his  Order  of  the  Black  Swan, 
member  of  many  learned  societies,  the  husband  of  a  rich  wife,'- 
and  a  person  of  no  small  consideration. 

As  for  his  son,  whose  name  figures  at  the  head  of  these  pao-es, 
you  may  suppose  he  did  not  die  of  the  illness  about  which°we 
had  just  been  talking.  A  good  nurse  waited  on  him,  though 
Ins  mamma  was 'in  the  country.  Though  his  papa  was  absent,  a 
very  competent  physician  was  found  to  take  charge  of  the  young 
patient,  and  preserve  his  life  for  the  benefit  of  his* family,  and 
the  purposes  of  this  history. 

We  pursued  our  talk  about  Philip  Firmin  and  his  father,  and 
his  granduncle  the  earl,  whom  Major  Pendennis  knew  inti- 
mately well,  until  Dr.  Goodenough's  carriage  was  announced, 
and  our  kind  physician  took  leave  of  us  and  drove  back  to  Lon- 
don. Some  who  spoke  on  that  summer  evening  are  no  longer 
here  to  speak  or  listen.  Some  who  were  young  then  have  top- 
ped the    hill  and  are  descending  toward    the    valley  of   the 


12  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

ahadpws.  "  Ah,"  says  old  Major  Pendennis,  shaking  bis  brown 
curls,  as  the  doctor  went  away ;  "  did  you  see,  ray  good  soul, 
when  I  spoke  about  his  confrere,  how  glum  Goodenough  looked  V 
They  don't  love  each  other,  my  dear.  Two  of  a  trade  don't 
a»ree,  and  besides  I  have  no  doubt  the  other  doctor-fellows  are 
jealous  of  Firmin,  because  he  lives  in  the  best  society.  A  man 
of  good  family,  my  dear.  There  has  already  been  a  great  rap- 
prochement; and  if  Lord  Ringwood  is  quite  reconciled  to  him, 
then;  's  no  knowing  what  luck  that  boy  of  Firmin's  may  come 
to." 

Although  Dr.  Goodenough  might  think  but  lightly  of  his 
confrere,  a  great  portion  of  the  public  held  him  in  much  higher 
estimation  ;  and  especially  in  the  little  community  of  Grey  Fri- 
ars, of  which  the  kind  reader  has  heard  in  previous  works  of  the 
present  biographer,  Dr.  Brand  Firmin  was  a  very  great  favorite, 
and  received  with  much  respect  and  honor.  Whenever  the 
boys  at  that  school  were  afflicted  with  the  common  ailments  of 
youth,  Mr.  Sprat,  the  school  apothecary,  provided  for  them,  and 
by  the  simple  though  disgusting  remedies  which  were  in  use  in 
those  times,  generally  succeeded  in  restoring  his  young  patients 
to  health.  But.if  young  Lord  Egham  (the  Marquis  of  Ascot's 
son,  as  my  respected  reader  very  likely  knows)  happened  to  be 
unwell,  as  was  frequently  the  case,  from  his  lordship's  great 
command  of  pocket-money  and  imprudent  fondness  for  the  con- 
tents of  the  pastry-cook's  shop  ;  or  if  any  very  grave  case  of 
illness  occurred  in  the  school,  then  quick  the  famous  Dr.  Fir- 
min, of  Old  Parr  street,  Burlington  Gardens,  was  sent  for;  and 
an  illness  must  have  been  very  severe  if  he  could  not  cure  it. 
Dr.  Firmin  had  been  a  school-fellow,  and  remained  a  special 
friend,  of  the  head-master.  When  young  Lord  Egham,  before 
mentioned  (he  was  our  only  lord,  and  therefore  we  were  a  little 
proud  and  careful  of  our  darling  youth),  got  the  erysipelas, 
which  swelled  his  head  to  the  size  of  a  pumpkin,  the  doctor  tri- 
umphantly carried  him  through  his  illness,  and  was  compliment- 
ed by  the  head-boy  in  his  Latin  oration  on  the  annual  speech-day 
for  his  superhuman  skill  and  godlike  delight  salutem  hominibus 
dando.  The  head  master  turned  toward  Dr.  Firmin,  and  bowed  ; 
the  governors  and  bigwig?  buzzed  to  one  another,  and  looked 
at  him ;  the  boys  looked  at  him ;  the  physician  held  his  hand- 
some head  down  toward  his  shirt-frill.  His  modest  eyes  would 
not  look  up  from  the  spotless  lining  of  the  broad-brimmed  hat  on 
his  knees.  A  murmur  of  applause  hummed  through  the  ancient 
hall,  a  scuffling  of  youn";  feet,  a  rustling  of  new  cassocks  among 
the  masters,  and  a  refreshing  blowing  of  noses  ensued,  as  the  ora- 
tor polished  off  his  period,  and  then  passed  to  some  other 
theme. 

Amidst  the  general  enthusiasm,  there  was  one  member  of  the 


ON   HIS   WAY    THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  13 

auditory  scornful  and  dissentient.  This  gentleman  whispered 
to  his  comrade  at  the  commencement  of  the  phrase  concerning 
the  doctor  the — I  believe  of  Eastern  derivation — monosyllable 
"  Bosh  1"  and  he  added,  sadly,  looking  toward  the  object  of  all 
this  praise,  "  He  can't  construe  the  Latin — though  it  is  all  a  par- 
cel of  humbug." 

a  Hush,  Phil!"  said  his  friend  ;  and  Phil's  face  flushed  red  as 
Dr.  Firmin,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  looked  at  him  for  one  moment; 
for  the  recipient  of  all  this  laudation  was  no  other  than  Phil's 
father. 

The  illness  of  which  we  spoke  had  long  since  passed  away. 
Philip  was  a  school-boy  no  longer,  but  in  his  second  year  at  the 
university,  and  one  of  half-a-dozen  young  men,  ex -pupils  of  the 
school,  who  had  come  up  for  the  annual  dinner.  The  honors  of 
this  year's  dinner  were  for  Dr.  Firmin,  even  more  than  for 
Lord  Ascot  in  his  star  and  ribbon,  who  walked  with  his  arm  in 
the  doctor's  into  chapel.  His  lordship  faltered  when,  in  his 
after-dinner  speech,  he  alluded  to  the  inestimable  services  and 
skill  of  his  tried  old  friend,  whom  he  had  known  as  a  fellow- 
pupil  int  those  walls — (loud  cheers) — whose  friendship  had  been 
the  delight  of  his  life — a  friendship  which  he  prayed  might  be 
the  inheritance  of  their  children.  (Immense  applause;  after 
which  Dr.  Firmin  spoke.) 

The  doctor's  speech  was  perhaps  a  little  commonplace  ;  the 
Latin  quotations  which  he  used  were  not  exactly  novel ;  but 
Phil  need  not  have  been  so  angry  or  ill-behaved.  He  went  on 
sipping  sherry,  glaring  at  his  father,  and  muttering  observations 
tli at  were  anything  but  complimentary  to  his  parent.  "  Now, 
look,"  says  he,  "  he  is  going  to  be  overcome  by  his  feelings.  He 
will  put  his  handkerchief  up  to  his  mouth,  and  show  his  diamond- 
ring.  I  told  you  so  !  It 's  too  much.  I  can't  swallow  this  .  .  . 
this  sherry.  I  say,  you  fellows,  let  us  come  out  of  this,  and  have 
a  smoke  somewhere."  And  Phil  rose  up  and  quitted  the  dining- 
room  just  as  his  father  was  declaring  .what  a  joy,  and  a  pride, 
and  a  delight  it  was  to  him  to  think  that  the  friendship  with 
which  his  noble  friend  honored  him  was  likely  to  be  transmitted 
to  their  children,  and  that  when  he  had  passed  away  from  this 
earthly  scene  (cries  of  "  No,  no !"  "  May  you  live  a  thousand 
years!")  it  would  be  his  joy  to  think  that  his  son  would  always 
find  a  friend  and  protector  in  the  noble,  the  princely  house  of 
Ascot. 

We  found  the  carriages  waiting  outside  Grey  Friars'  Gate, 
and  Philip  Firmin,  pushing  me  into  his  father's,  told  the  foot- 
man to  drive  home,  and  that  the  doctor  would  return  in  Lord 
Ascot's  carriage.  Home  then  to  Old  Parr  street  we  went,  where 
many  a  time  as  a  boy  I  had  been  welcome.  And  we  retired  to 
Phil's  private  den  in  the  back-buildings  of  the  great  house  ;  and 
over  our  cigars  we  talked  of  the  Founder's-day  Feast,  and  the 


14  oi    I'Hii.ir 

speeches  delivered  ;  and  of  the  old  Cistercians  of  our  time,  and 

mpson  v.as  married,  and  Johnson  was  in  the  army,  and 

Jackson  (not  red-haired  Jackson,  pig-eyed  Jackson)  was  first  in 

and  so  forth ;  and  in  this  twaddle  were  most  happily 

.  .'d  when  Phil's  father  flung  open  the  tall  door  of  the  study. 

"  Here  'a  the  governor!"  growled  Phil;  and,  in  an  under-tonc, 
"  what  docs  he  want  ?" 

"The  governor,"  as  I  looked  up,  was  not  a  pleasant  object  to 
behold.  l>r.  Firmln  had  very  white  false  teeth,  which  perhaps 
Aver.-  a  little  too  large  for  his  mouth,  and  these  grinned  in  the 
gas-light  very  fiercely.  On  his  checks  were  black  wlmkei's, 
and  over  his  glaring  eyes  fierce  black  eyebrows,  and  his  bald 
head  glittered  like  a  billiard-ball.  You  would  hardly  have 
known  that  lu-  was  the  original  of  that  melancholy  philosophic 
portrait  which  all  the  patients  admired  in  the  doctor's  waiting- 
room. 

"  1  find,  Philip,  that  you  took  my  carriage,"  said  the  father  ; 
u  and  Lord  Ascot  and  1  had  to  walk  ever  so  far  lor  a  cab  !" 

"  Had  n't  he  got  his  own  carriage?  I  thought,  of  course,  he 
would  have  his  carriage  on  a  State-day,  and  that  you  would 
come  home  with  the  lord,"  said  Philip. 

"  1  had  promised  to  bring  him  home,  sir!"  said  the  father. 

"  Well,  sir,  I'm  very  sorry,"  continued  the  son,  curtly. 

"  Sorry  !"  screams  the  other. 

"  1  can't  say  any  more,  sir,  amd  I  am  very  sorry,"  answers 
Phil ;  and  he  knocked  the  ash  of  his  cigar  into  the  stove. 

The  stranger  within  the  house  hardly  knew  how  to  look  on  its 
master  or  his  son.  There  was  evidently  some  dire  quarrel  be- 
•i  them.  The  old  man  glared  at  the  young  one,  who  calmly 
looked  his  father  in  the  face.  Wicked  rage  and  hate  seemed  to 
flash  from  the  doctor's  eyes,  and  anon  came  a  look  of  wild  pitiful 
supplication  toward  the  guest,  which  was  most  painful  to  bear. 
In  the  midst  of  what  dark  family  mystery  was  I  ?  What  meant 
this  cruel    spectacle  of  the  father's  terrified  anger  and  the  son's 

•  i)  V 

"  I — 1  appeal  to  you,  Pendennis,"  says  the  doctor,  with  a 
choking  utterance  and  a  ghastly  face. 

"Shall  we  begin  ab  ovo,  sir  V"  says  Phil.  Again  the  ghastly 
look  of  terror  comes  over  the  father's  face. 

"I— I  promise  to  bring  one  of  the  first  noblemen  in  England," 
gasps  the  doctor,  "  from  •''  public  dinner,  in  my  carriage;  and 
my  son  t;d<cs  it,  and  leaves  me  and  Lord  Ascot  to  walk  !  Is  it 
fair,  Pendennis  ?  Is  it  the  conduct  of  a  gentleman  to  a  gentle- 
man—  of  a  Son  to  a  father  V"  ' 

"  No,  sir,"  I  said,  gravely,  "  nothing  can  excuse  it."  Indeed 
eked  at  the  young  man's  obduracy  and  undutifulnese. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  a  mistake;  !"  cries  Phil,  reddening.  "  I 
heard  Lord  Ascot  order  his  own  carriage ;  I  made  no  doubt  he 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.        *  15 

would  bring  my  father  home.  To  ride  in  a  chariot  with  a  foot- 
man behind  mo  is  no  pleasure  to  me,  and  I  would  far  rather  have 
a  Hansom  and  a  cigar.  It  was  a  blunder,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it 
— thei-e  !     And  if  I  live  to  a  hundred  I  can't  say  more."  « 

"  If  you  are  sorry,  Philip,"  groans  the  father,  "  it  is  enough. 
You  rememoer,  Pendennis,  when — when  my  son  and  I  were  not 
on  this— on  this  footing,"  and  he  looked  up  for  a  moment  at  a 
picture  which  was  hanging  over  Phil's  head — a  portrait  of 
Phil's  mother;  the  lady  of  whom  ray  own  mother  spoke,  on  that 
evening  when  we  had  talked  of  the  boy's  illness.  Both  the  la- 
dies had  passed  from  the  world  now,  and  their  images  were  but 
painted  shadows  on  the  wall. 

The  father  had  accepted  "an  apology,  though  the  son  had  made 
none.  I  looked  at  the  elder  Firmin's  face,  and  the  character 
written  on  it.  I  remembered  such  particulars  of  his  early  histo- 
ry as  had  been  told  to  me  ;  and  I  perfectly  recalled  that  feeling 
of  doubt  and  misliking  which  came  over  my  mind  when  I  first 
saw  the  doctor's  handsome  face  some  few  years  previously,  when 
my  uncle  first  took  me  to  the  doctor's  in  Old  Parr  street ;  little 
Phil  being  then  a  flaxen-headed,  pretty  child,  who  had  just  as- 
sumed his  first  trowsers,  and  I  a  fifth-form  boy  at  school. 

My  father  and  Dr.  Firmin  were  members  of  the  medical  pro- 
fession. They  had  been  bred  up  as  boys  at  the  same  school, 
whither  families  used  to  send  their  sons  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration, and  long  before  people  had  ever  learned  that  the  place 
was  unwholesome.  Grey  Friars  was  smoky,  certainly  ;  I  think 
in  the  time  of  the  Plague  great  numbers  of  people  were  buried 
there.  But  had  the  school  been  situated  in  the  most  picturesque 
swamp  in  England,  the  general  health  of  the  boys  could  not 
have  been  better.  We  boys  used  to  hear  of  epidemics  occur- 
ring in  other  schools,  and  were  almost  sorry  that  they  did  not 
Come  to  ours,  so  that  we  might  shut  up,  and  get  longer  vaca- 
tions. Even  that  illness  which  subsequently  befell  Phil  Firmin 
himself  attacked  no  one  else — the  boys  all  luckily  going  home 
for  the  holidays  on  the  very  day  of  poor  Phil's  seizure ;  but  of 
this  illness*more  anon.  When  it  was  determined  that  little  Phil 
Firmin  was  to  go  to  Grey  Friars,  Phil's  father  bethought  him  that 
Major  Pendennis,  whom  he  met  in  the  world  and  society,  had 
a  nephew  at  the  place,  who  might  protect  the  little  fellow,  and 
the  major  took  his  nephew  to  see  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Firmin  one  Sun- 
day after  church,  and  we  had  lunch  at  Old  Parr  street,  and 
there  little  Phil  was  presented  to  me,  whom  I  promised  to  take 
under  my  protection.  He  was  a  simple  little  man  ;  an  artless 
child,  who  had  not  the  least  idea  of  the  dignity  of  a  fifth-form 
lb-  was  quite  unabashed  in  talking  to  me  and  other  per- 
and  has  remained  so  ever  sin''.  He  asked  my  uncle  how 
he  came  t<»  have  such  old  hair.  He  partook  freely  of  the  deli- 
i  tin-  table.    I  remember  he  hit  me  with  his  little  fist 


16  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

once  or  twice,  which  liberty  at  first  struck  me  with  a  panic  of 
astonishment,  and  then  with  a  sense  of  the  ridiculous  so  exqui- 
sitely keen,  that  I  burst  out  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  It  was,  you 
see,  as  if  a  stranger  were  to  hit  the  Pope  in  the  ribs,  and  call 
him  "  Old  boy ;"  as  if  Jack  were  to  tweak  one  of  the  giants  by 
the  nose ;  or  Ensign  Jones  to  ask  the  Duke  of  Wellington  to  take 
wine.  I  had  a  strong  sense  of  humor,  even  in  those  early  days, 
and  enjoyed  this  joke  accordingly. 

"  Philip  ! "  cries  mamma,  "  you  will  hurt  Mr.  Pendennis." 

"  I  will  knock  him  down  1"  shouts  Phil.  Fancy  knocking  me 
down — me,  a  fifth-form  boy! 

"  The  child  is  a  perfect  Hercules,"  remarks  the  mother. 

"  He  strangled  two  snakes  in  his  cradle/'  says  the  doctor, 
looking  at  me.  (It  was  then,  as  I  remember,  I  felt  Dr.  Fell  to- 
ward him.) 

"  La,  Dr.  Firmin  ! "  cries  mamma,  "  I  can't  bear  snakes.  Ire- 
member  there  was  one  at  Rome,  when  we  were  walking  one  day  ; 
a  great,  large  snake,  and  I  hated  it,  and  I  cried  out,  and  I  nearly 
fainted  ;  and  my  uncle  Ringwood  said  I  ought  to  like  snakes,  for 
one  might  be  an  agreeable  rattle ;  and  I  have  read  of  them  being 
charming  in  India,  and  I  dare  say  you  have,  Mr.  Pendennis,  for 
I  am  told  you  are  very  clever ;  and  I  am  not  in. the  least ;  I  wish 
I  were  ;  but  my  husband  is,  very- — and  so  Phil  will  be.  Will  you 
be  a  very  clever  boy,  dear  ?  He  was  named  after  my  dear  papa, 
who  was  killed  at  Busaco  when  I  was  quite,  quite  a  little  thing, 
and  we  wore  mourning,  and  we  went  to  live  with  my  uncle  Ring- 
wood  afterward  ;  but  Maria  and  I  had  both  our  own  fortunes ;  and 
I  am  sure  I  little  thought  I  should  marry  a  physician — la,  one  of 
uncle  Ringwood's  grooms,  I  should  as  soon  have  thought  of  mar- 
rying him  ! — but,  you  know,  my  husband  is  one  of  the  cleverest 
men  in  the  world.  Don't  tell  me — you  are,  dearest,  and  you  k\iow 
it ;  and  when  a  man  is  clever  I  don't  value  his  rank  in  life ;  no, 
not  if  he  was  that  fender;  and  I  always  said  to  uncle  Ringwood, 
*  Talent  I  will  marry,  for  talent  I  adore ;'  and  I  did  marry  you, 
Dr.  Firmin,  you  know  I  .did,  and  this  child  is  your  image.  And 
you  will  be  kind  to  him  at  school,"  says  the  poor  lady,  turning  to 
me,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears,  "  for  talent  is  always  kind,  except 
uncle  Ringwood,  and  he  was  very — " 

"  A  little  more  wine,  Mr.  Pendennis  ?"  said  the  doctor — Dr. 
Pell  still,  though  he  was  most  kind  to  me.  "  I  shall  put  my  little 
man  under  your  care,  and  I  know  you  will  keep  him  from  harm. 
I  hope  you  will  do  us  the  favor  to  come  to  Parr  street  whenever 
you  are  free.  In  my  father's  time  we  used  to  come  home  of  a 
Saturday  from  school,  and  enjoyed  going  to  the  play."  And  the 
doctor  shook  me  cordially  by  the  hand,  and,  I  must  say,  continued 
his  kindness  to  me  as  long  as  ever  I  knew  him.  When  we  went 
away  my  uncle  Pendennis  told  me  many  stories  about  the  great 
earl  and  family  of  Ringwood,  and  how  Dr.  Firmin  had  made  a 


ON    HIS    WAY    THItOUGH    THE   WORLD.  17 

match — a  match  of  the  affections — with  this  lady,  daughter  of 
Philip  -llingwood.  "who  was  killed  at  Busaeo  ;  and  how  she  had 
been  a  great  beauty,  and  was  a  perfect  graride  dame  always ;  and 
if  not  the  cleverest,  certainly  one  of  the  kindest  and  most  amiable, 
women1  in  the  world. 

In  those  days  I  was  accustomed  to  receive  the  opinions  of  my 
informant  with  such  respect  that  I  at  once  accepted  this  state- 
ment as  authentic.  Mrs.  Fiimin's  portrait,  indeed,  was  beauti- 
ful ;  it  was  painted  by  young  Mr.  Iiarlowe,  that  year  he  was  at 
Rome,  and  when  in  eighteen  days  he  completed  a  copy  of  the 
Transfiguration,  to  the  admiration  of  all  the  Academy  ;  but  I,  for 
my  part,  only  remember  a  lady  weak,  and  thin,  and  faded,  who 
never  came  out  of  her  dressing-room  until  a  late  hour  in  the  after- 
noon, and  whose  superannuated  smiles  and  grimaces  used  to  pro- 
voke my  juvenile  sense  of  humor.  She  used  to  kiss  Phil's  brow  ; 
and,  as  she  held  the  boy's  hand  in  one  of  her  lean  ones,  would 
say,  "  Who  would  suppose  such  a  great  boy  as  that  could  be  my 
son  ?"  "  Be  kind  to  him  when  I  am  gone,"  she  sighed  to  me,  one 
Sunday  evening,  when  I  was  taking  leave  of  her,  as  hereyes  filled 
with  tears,  ami  she  placed  the  thin  hand  in  mine  for  the  last 
time.  The  doctor,  reading  by  the  fire,  turned  round  and  scowled 
at  her  from  under  his  tall  shining  forehead.  "  You  are  nervous, 
Louisa,  and  had  better  go  to  your  room  ;  I  told  you  you  had,"  he 
said,  abruptly.  "  Young  gentlemen,  it  is  time  for  you  to  be  oiF 
to  Grey  Friars.  Is  the  cab  at  the  door,  Brice  V"  And  he  took 
out  his  watch — his  great  shining  watch,  by  which  he  had  felt  the 
pulses  of  so  many  famous  personages,  whom  his  prodigious  skill 
had  rescued  from  disease.  And  at  parting  Phil  flung  his  arms 
round  his  poor  mother,  and  kissed  her  under  the  glossy  curls — 
the  borrowed  curls — and  he  looked  his  father  resolutely  in  the 
face  (whose-own  glance  used  to  fall  before  that  of  the  boy),  and 
bade  him  a  gruff  good-night,  ere  we  set  forth  for  Grey  Friars. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AT  SCHOOL  AND  AT-HOME. 

I  dined  yesterday  with  three  gentlemen,  whose  time  of  life  may 
be  guessed  by  their  conversation,  a"  great  part  of  which  consisted 
of  Eton  reminiscences  and  lively  imitations  of  Dr.  Keate.  Each 
one,  as  he  described  how  he  had  been  flogged,  mimicked  to  the 
best  of  his  power  the  manner  and  the  mode  of  operating  of  the 
famous  doctor.  His  little  parenthetical  remarks  during  the  cere- 
mony were  recalled  with  great  facetiousness;  the  very  Lichish  of 
the  rods  was  parodied  with  thrilling  fidelity  ;  and  after  a  good 
hour's  conversation  the  subject  was  brought  to  a  climax  by  a 


18  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

description  of  that  asvful  night  when  the  doctor  called  up  squad 
after  squad  of  boys  from  their  beds  in  their  respective  board- 
ing houses,  whipped  through  the  whole  night,  and  castigated  I 
don't  know  how  many  hundred  rebels.  All  these  mature  men 
Laughed,  prattled,  rejoiced,  and  became  young  again,  as  they  re- 
counted their  stories;  and  each  of  them  heartily  and  eagerly 
bade  the  stranger  to  understand  how  Keate  was  a  thorough  gen- 
tleman. Having  talked  about  their  floggings,  I  say,  for  an  hour 
at  least,  they  apologized  to  me  for  dwelling  upon  a  subject  which, 
after  all,  was  strictly  local ;  but,  indeed,  their  talk  greatly  amused 
and  diverted  me,  and  T  hope,  and  am  quite  ready,  to  hear  all  their 
jolly  stories  over  again. 

Be  not  angry,  patient  reader  of  former  volumes  by  the  author 
of  the  present  history,  if  I  am  garrulous  about  Grey  Friars,  and 
go  back  to  that  ancient  place  of  education  to  find  the  heroes  of 
our  tale.  We  are  but  young  once.  When  we  remember  that 
time  of  youth,  we  are  still  young.  He  over  whose  head  eight  or 
nine  lustres  have  passed,  if  he  wishes  to  write  of  boys,  must  recall 
the  time  when  he  himself  was  a  boy.  Their  habits  change  ;  their 
waists  are  longer  or  shorter ;  their  shirt-collars  stick  up  more  or 
less ;  but  the  bov  is  the  boy  in  King  George's  time  as  in  that  of 
his  royal  niece — once  our  maiden  queen,  now  the  anxious  mother 
of  many  boys.  And  young  fellows  are  honest,  and  merry,  and 
idle,  and  mischievous,  and  timid,  and  brave,  and  studious,  and 
selfish,  and  generous,  and  mean,  and  false,  and  truth-telling,  and 
aiT'cctionate,  and  good,  and  bad,  now  as  in  former  days.  He 
with  whom  we  have  mainly  to  do  is  a  gentleman  of  mature  age, 
now  walking  the  street  with  boys  of  his  own.  He  is  not  going 
to  perish  in  the  last  chapter  of  these  memoirs — to  die  of  consump- 
tion, with  his  love  weeping  by  his  bedside,  or  to  blow  his  brains 
out  in  despair,  because  she  has  been  married  to  his  rival,  or  killed 
out  of  a  gig,  or  otherwise  done  for,  in  the  last  chapter  but  one. 
No,  no;  we  will  have  no  dismal  endings.  Philip  Firmin  is  well 
and  hearty  at  this  minute,  owes  no  man  a  shilling,  and  can  enjoy 
his  glass  of  port  in  perfect  comfort.  .So,  ray  dear  miss,  if  you 
want  a  pulmonary  romance,  the  present  won't  suit  you.  So, 
young  gentleman,  if  you  are  for  melancholy,  despair,  and  sardonic 
satire,  please  to  call  at  some  other  shop.  That  Philip  shall  have 
his  trials  is  a  matter  of  course — may  they  be  interesting,  though 
they  do  not  end  dismally !  That  he  shall  fall  and  trip  in  his  course 
sometimes  is  pretty  certain.  Ah,  who  does  not  upon  this  life- 
journey  of  ours  ?  Is  not  our  want  the  occasion  of  our  brother's 
charity,  and  thus  does  not  good  com,',  out  of  that  evil?  When  the 
traveller  (of  whom  the  Master  spoke)  fell  among  the  thieves,  his 
mishap  was  contrived  to  try  many  a  heart  beside  his  own — the 
Knave's  who  robbed  him,  the  Levite's  and  Priest's  who  passed 
him  by  as  he  lay  bleeding,  the  humble  Samaritan's  whose  hand 
poured  oil  into  his  wound,  and  held  out  its  pittance  to  relieve 
him. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WOULD.  19 

So  little  Philip  Firmin  was  brought  to  school  by  his  mamma  in 
her  carriage,  who  entreated  the  housekeeper  to  have  a  special 
charge  of  that  angelic  child  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  poor  lady's  back 
was  turned,  Mrs.  Bunce  emptied  the  contents  of  the  little  boy's 
trunk  into  one  of  sixty  or  seventy  little  cupboards,  wherein  re- 
posed other  boys'  clothes  and  haberdashery ;  and  then  Mrs.  Fir.- 
min  requested  to  see  the  Rev.  Mr.  X.,  in  whose  house  Philip  was 
to  board,  and  besought  him,  and  explained  many  things  to  him, 
such  as  the  exceeding  delicacy  of  the.  child's  constitution,  etc., 
etc. ;  and  Mr.  X.,  who  was  very  good-natured,  patted  the  boy 
kindly  on  the  head,  and  sent  for  the  other  Philip,  Philip  Ring- 
wood,  Phil's  cousin,  who  had  arrived  at  Grey  Friars  an  hour  or 
two  before;  and  Mr.  X.  told  Ringwood  to  take  care  of  the  little 
fellow ;  and  Mrs.  Firmin,  choking  behind  her  pocket-handker- 
chief, gurgled  out  a  blessing  on  the  grinning  youth,  and  at  one 
time  had  an  idea  of  oivina:  Master  -Ring  wood  a  sovereign,  but 
paused,  thinking,  he  was  too  big  a  boy,  and  that  she  might  not 
take  such  a  liberty,  and  presently  she  was  gone ;  and  little  Phil 
Firmin  was  introduced  to  the  long-room  and  his  school-fellows  of 
Mr.  X.'s  house;  and  having  plenty  of  money,  and  naturally  find- 
ing his  way  to  the  pastry-cook's  the  next  day  after  school,  he 
was  met  b}'  his  cousin  Ring  wood,  and  robbed  of  half  the  tarts 
which  he  had  purchased.  A  fortnight  afterward  the  hospitable 
doctor  and  his  wife  asked  their  young  kinsman  to  Old  Parr  street, 
Burlington  Gardens,  and  the  two  boys  went ;  but  Phil  never 
mentioned  anything  to  his  parents  regarding  the  robbery  of  tails, 
being  deterred,  perhaps,  from  speaking  by  awful  threats  of  pun- 
ishment which  his  cousin  promised  to  administer  when  they  got 
back  to  school,  in  case  of  the  little  boy's  confession.  Subse- 
quently Master  Ringwood  was  asked  once  in  every  term  to  Old 
Parr  street ;  but  neither  Mrs.  Firmin,  nor  the  doctor,  nor  Master 
Firmin,  liked  the  baronet's  son,  and  Mrs.  Firmin  pronounced 
him  a  violent,  rude  boy. 

I,  for  my  part,  left  school  suddenly  and  early,  and  my  little 
protege  behind  me.  His  poor  mother,  who  had  promised  herself 
to  come  for  him  every  Saturday,  did  not  keep  her  promise. 
Smithfield  is  a  long  way  from  Piccadilly  ;  and  an  angry  cow  once 
scratched  the  panels  of  her  carriage,  causing  her  footman  to 
spring  from  his  board  into  a  pig-pen,  and  herself  to  feel  such  a 
shock,  that  no  wonder  she  was  afraid  of  visiting  the  City  after- 
ward. The  circumstances  of  this  accident  she  often  narrated  to 
us.  Her  anecdotes  were  not  numerous,  but  she  told  them 
repeatedly.  In  imagination,  sometimes,  I  can  hear  her  ceaseless, 
simple  cackle ;  see  her  faint  eyes,  as  she  prattles  on  unconsciously, 
and  watch  the  dark  looks  of  her  handsome,  silent  husband,  scowl- 
ing from  under  his  eyebrows  and  smiling  behind  his  teeth.  I 
dare  say  he  ground  those  teeth  with  suppressed  rage  sometimes. 
I  dare  say  to  bear  with   her  endless  volubility  must  have  tasked 


20  THE    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

his  endurance.  He  may  have  treated  her  ill,  but  she  tried  him. 
She,  on  her  part,  may  have  been  a  not  very  wise  woman,  but  she 
was  kind  to  me.  Did  not  her  housekeeper  make  me  the  best  of 
tarts,  and  keep  goodies  from  the  company-dinners  for  the  young 
gentlemen  when  they  came  home  ?  Did  not  her  husband  give  me 
of  his  fees  V  I  promise  you,  after  I  had  seen  Dr.  Fell  a  few  times, 
thai  first  unpleasing  impression  produced  by  his  darkling  counte- 
nance and  sinister  good  looks  wore  away.  He  was  a  gentleman. 
He  had  lived  in  the  great  world,  of  which  he  told  anecdotes  de- 
lightful to  boys  to  hear;  and  he  passed  the  bottle  to  me  as  if  I 
w.is  a  man. 

I  hope  and  think  I  remembered  the  injunction  of  poor  Mrs. 
Firmin  to  be  kind  to  her  boy.  As  long  as  we  staid  together  at 
Grey  Friars  I  was  Phil's  champion,  whenever  he  needed  my  pro- 
tection,  though  of  course  I  could  not  always  be  present  to  guard 
the  little  scapegrace  from  all  the  blows  which  were  aimed  at  his 
young  face  by  pugilists  of  his  own  size.  There  were  seven  or 
eight  years'  difference  between  us  (he  says  ten,  which  is  absurd, 
and  which  T  deny);  but  I  was  always  remarkable  for  my  affa- 
bility, and,  in  spite  of  our  disparity  of  age,  would  often  graciously 
accept  the  general  invitation  I  had  from  his  father  for  any  Sat- 
urday and  Sunday  when  I  would  like  to  accompany  Philip  home. 
Such  an  invitation  is  welcome  to  any  school-boy.  To  get  away 
from  Smithfield,  and  show  our  best  clothes  in  Bond  street,  was 
always  a  privilege.  To  strut  in  the  Park  on  Sunday,  and  nod  to 
the  other  fellows  who  were  strutting  there  too,  was  better  than 
remaining  at  school,  "doing  Diatessaron,"'  as  the  phrase  used  to 
be,  having  that  endless  roast  beef  for  dinner,  and  hearing  two  ser- 
mons in  chapel.  There  may  have  been  more  lively  streets  in 
Loudon  than  Old  Parr  street;  but  it  was  pleasanter  to  be  there 
than  to  look  at  Goswell  street  over  Grey  Friars' wall;  and  so  the 
present  biographer  and  reader's  very  humble  servant  found  Dr. 
Firmin's  house  an  agreeable  resort.  Mamma  was  often  ailing,  or, 
if  well,  went  out  into  the  world  with  her  husband ;  in  either  case, 
we  boys  had  a  good  dinner  provided  for  us,  with  the  special  dishes 
which  Phil  loved  ;  and  after  dinner  we  adjourned  to  the  play,  not 
being  by  any  means  too  proud  to  sit  in  the  pit  with  Mr.  Brice,the 
doctor's  confidential  man.  On  Sunday  we  went  to  church  at 
Lady  Whittlesea's,  and  back  to  school  in  the  evening,  when  the 
doctor  almost  always  gave  us  a  fee.  If  he  did  not  dine  at  home 
(and  I  own  his  absence  did  not  much  damp  our  pleasure),  Brice 
would  lay  a  small  enclosure  on  the  young  gentlemen's  coats  which 
Ave  transferred  to  our  pockets.  I  believe  school-boys  disdain  fees 
in  the  present  disinterested  times. 

Everything  in  Dr.  Firmin's  house  was  as  handsome  as  might 
be,  and  yet  somehow  the  place  was  not  cheerful.  One's  steps 
fell  noiselessly  on  the  faded  Turkey  carpet ;  the  room  was  large, 
and  all  save  the  dining-table  in  auingy  twilight.     The  picture  of 


UN   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  21 

Mrs.  Firmin  looked  at  us  from  the  wall,  and  followed  us  about 
with  wild  violet  eyes.  Philip  Firmin  had  the  same  violet  odd 
bright  eyes,  and  the  same  colored  hair  of  an  auburn  fcioge  ;  in  the 
picture  it  fell  in  long  wild  masses  over  the  lady's  back  as  she 
leaned  with  bare  arms  on  a  harp.  Over  the  sideboard  was  the 
doctor,  in  a  black  velvet  coat  and  a  fur  collar,  his  hand  on  a  skull, 
like  Hamlet.  Skulls  of  oxen,  horned,  with  wreaths,  formed  the 
cheerful  ornaments  of  the  cornice.  On  the  side-table  glittered 
a  pair  of  cups,  given  by  grateful  patients,  looking  like  receptacles 
rather  for  funereal  ashes  than  for  festive  flowers  or  wine.  Brice, 
the  butler,  wore  the  gravity  and  costume  of  an  undertaker. 
The  footman  stealthily  moved  hither  and  thither,  bearing  the 
dinner  to  us  ;  we  always  spoke  under  our  breath  while  we  were 
eating  it.  "The  room  don't  look  more  cheerful  of  a  morning 
when  the  patients  are  sitting  here,  I  can  tell  you,"  Phil  would 
say;  indeed,  we  could  well  fancy  that  it  was  dismal.  The  draw- 
ing-room had  a  rhubarb-colored  flock  paper  (on  account  of  the 
governor's  attachment  to  the  shop,  Master  Phil  said  J,  a  great 
piano,  a  harp  smothered  in  a  leather  bag  in  the  corner,  which  the 
languid  owner  now  never  touched ;  and  everybody's  face  seemed 
scared  and  pale  in  the  great  looking-glasses,  which  reflected  you 
over  and  over  again  into  the  distance,  so  that  you  seemed  to 
twinkle  off  right  through  the  Albany  into  Piccadilly. 

Old  Parr  street  has  been  a  habitation  for  generations  of  sur- 
geons and  physicians.  I  suppose  the  nol)lemen  for  whose  use  the 
street  was  intended  in  the  time  of  the  early  Georges  fled,  finding 
the  neighborhood  too  dismal,  and  the  gentlemen  in  black  coats 
came  and  took  possession  of  the  gilded,  gloomy  chambers  which 
the  sacred  mode  vacated.  These  mutations  of  fashion  have  always 
been  matters  of  profound  speculation  to  me.  Why  shall  not  one 
moralize  over  London  as  over  Rome,  or  Baaibec,  or  Troy  town  '? 
I  like  to  walk  among  the  Hebrews  of  Wardour  street,  and  fancy 
the  place,  as  it  once  was,  crowded  with  chairs  and  gilt  chariots, 
and  torches  flashing  in  the  hands  of  the  running  footmen.  I  have 
a  grim  pleasure  in  thinking  that  Golding  square  was  once  the 
resort  of  the  aristocracy,  and  Monmouth  street  the  delight  of  the 
genteel  world.  What  shall  prevent  us  Londoners  from  musing 
over  the  decline  and  fall  of  city  sovereignties,  and  drawing  our 
cockney  morals?  As  the  late  Mr.  Gibbon  meditated  his  history 
leaning  against  the  column  in  the  Capitol,  why  should  not  I  muse 
over  mine  reclining  under  an  arcade  of  the  Pantheon  ?  Not  the 
Pantheon  at  Rome,  in  the  Cabbage  Market  by  the  Piazza  Navona, 
where  the  immortal  gods  were  worshipped — the  immortal  gods 
who  are  now  dead  ;  but  the  Pantheon  in  Oxford  street,  ladies, 
where  y6u  purchase  feeble  pomatums,  music,  glassware,  and  ba- 
by-linen ;  and  which  has  its  history  too.  Have  not  Selwyn,  and 
WTaIpole,  and  March,  and  Carlisle  figured  there  ?  Has  not  Prince 
Florizel  flounced  through  the  hulfin  his  rustling  doininc,  and 


22  TIIK    ADVENTUKKS    OF    PIIILIT 

danced  there  in  powdered  splendor  ?  and  when  the  ushers  re- 
fused admission  to  lovely  Sophy  Baddeley,  did  not  the  young  men, 
her  adorers,  draw  their  rapiers  and  vow  to  slay  the  door-keepers  ; 
and,  crossing  the  glittering  blades  over  the  enchantress'  head, 
make  a  warlike  triumphal  arch  for  her  to  pass  under,  all  flushed, 
and  smiling,  and  perfumed,  and  painted?  The  lives  of  streets  are 
as  the  lives  of  men,  and  shall  not  the  street-preacher,  if  so  minded, 
take  for  the  text  of  his  sermon  the  stones  in  the  gutter?  That 
you  were  once  the  resort  of  the  fashion,  O  Monmouth  street !  by 
the  invocation  of  blessed  St.  Giles  shall  I  not  improve  that 
sweet  thought  into  a  godly  discourse,  and  make  the  ruin  edify- 
ing ?  0  men  freres !  There  were  splendid  thoroughfares,  daz- 
zling company,  bright  illuminations,  in  our  streets  when  our 
hearts  were  young;  we  entertained  in  them  a  noble  youthful 
company  of  chivalrous  hopes  and  lofty  ambitions;  of  blushing 
thoughts  in  snowy  robes,  spotless  and  virginal.  See,  in  the  em- 
brasure of  the  window,  where  you  sate  looking  to  the  stars  and 
nestling  by  the  soft  side  of  your  first-love,  hang  Mr.  Moses'  bar- 
gains of  turned  old  clothes,  very  cheap  ;  of  worn  old  boots,  be- 
draggled in  how  much  and  how  many  people's  mud ;  a  great  bar- 
gain. See  !  along  the  street,  strewed  with  flowers  once  mayhap, 
a  fight  of  beggars  for  the  refuse  of  an  apple-stall,  or  a  tipsy  bas- 
ket-woman, reeling  shrieking  to  the  station.  Ome!  Omy beloved 
congregation,  I  have  preached  this  stale  sermon  to  you  for  ever 
so  many  years  !  O  my  jolly  companions,  I  have  drunk  many  a 
bout  with  you,  and  always  found  vanitas  vanitatum  written  on  the 
bottom  of  the  pot ! 

I  choose  to  moralize  now  when  I  pass  the  place.  The  garden 
has  run  to  seed,  the  walks  are  mildewed,  the  statues  have  broken 
noses,  the  gravel  is  dank  with  green  moss,  the  roses  are  withered, 
and  the  nightingales  have  ceased  to  make  love.  It  is  a  funereal 
street,  Old  Parr  street,  certainly ;  the  carriages  which  drive  there 
ought  to  have  feathers  on  the  roof,  and  the  butlers  who  open  the 
doors  should  wear  weepers — so  the  scene  strikes  you  now  as  you 
pass  along  the  spacious  empty  pavement.  You  are  bilious,  my 
uood  mart.  Go  and  pay  a  guinea  to  one  of  the  doctors  in  those 
houses  ;  there  are  still  doctors  there.  He  will  prescribe  taraxa- 
cum for  you,  or  pil.  hydrarg.  Bless  you  !  in  my  time,  to  us  gen- 
tlemen of  the  fifth-form,  the  place  was  bearable.  The  yellow  fogs 
didn't  damp  our  spirits — and  we  never  thought  them  too  thick  to 
keep  us  away  from  the  play ;  from  the  chivalrous  Charles  Kern- 
ble,  I  tell  you,  my  Mirabel,  my  Mercutio,  my  princely  Falcon: 
bridge  ;  from  his  adorable  daughter  (O  my  distracted  heart !)  ; 
from  the  classic  Young;  from  the  glorious  Long  Tom  Coffin; 
from  the  unearthly  Vanderdecken — "Return,  O  my  love,  and 
we  '11  never,  never  part "  (where  art  thou,  sweet-  singer  of  that 
most  thrilling  ditty  of  my  youth  ?) ;  from  the  sweet,  sweet  Vic- 
torine,  and  the  Bottle  Imp.     Oh,  to  see  that  Bottle  Imp  again,  and 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  23 

hear  that  song  about  the  "Pilgrim  of  Love  I"  Once,  but — hush! 
: — this  is  a  secret — we  had  private  boxes,  the  doctor's  grand 
friends  often  sending  him  these;  and  finding  the  opera  rather 
slow,  we  went  to  a  concert  in  M-d-n  Lane,  near  Covent  Garden, 
and  heard  the  most  celestial  glees,  over  a  supper  of  fizzing  sau- 
sages and  mashed  potatoes,  such  as  the  world  has  never  seen 
since.  We  did  no  harm  ;  but  I  dare  say  it  was  very  wrong. 
Brice,  the  butler,  ought  not  to  have  taken  us.  We  bullied  him, 
and  made  him  take  us  where  we  liked.  We  had  rum-shrub  in 
the  housekeeper's  room,  where  we  used  to  be  diverted  by  the  so- 
ciety of  other  butlers  of  the  neighboring  nobility  and  gentry, 
who  would  step  in.  Perhaps  it  was  wrong  to  leave  us  so  to  the  com- 
pany of  servants.  Dr.  Firmin  used  to  go  to  his  grand  parties, 
Mrs.  Firmin  to  bed.  "  Did  we  enjoy  the  performance  last  night  ?" 
our  host  would  ask  at  breakfast.  "  Oh,  yes,  we  enjoyed  the  per- 
formance!" But  my  poor  Mrs.  Firmin  fancied  that  we  enjoyed 
Semiramide  or  the  Dina  del  Lago ;  whereas  we  had  been  to  the 
pit  at  the  Adelphi  (out  of  our  own  money),  and  seen  that  jojjy 
John  Reeve,  and  laughed — laughed  till  we  were  lit  to  drop — and 
staid  till  the  curtain  was  down.  And  then  we  would  come  home, 
and,  as  aforesaid,  pass  a  delightful  hour  over  supper,  and  hear 
the  anecdotes  of  Mr.  Brice's  friends,  the  other  butlers.  Ah,  that 
was  a  time  indeed  !  There  never  was  any  liquor  so  good  as  rum- 
shrub,  never ;  and  the  sausages  had  a  flavor  of  Elysium.  How 
hushed  we  were  when  Dr.  Firmin,  coming  home  from  his  parties, 
let  himself  in  at  the  street-door  !  Shoeless,  we  crept  up  to  our 
bedrooms.  And  we  came  down  to  breakfast  with  innocent  young 
faces — and  let  Mrs.  Firmin,  at  lunch,  prattle  about  the  opera; 
and  there  stood  Brice  and  the  footman  behind  us,  looking  quite 
grave,  the  abominable  hypocrites  ! 

Then,  sir,  there  was  a  certain  way,  out  of  the  study  window, 
or  through  the  kitchen,  and  over  the  leads,  to  a  building,  gloomy 
indeed,  but  where  I  own  to  have  spent  delightful  hours  of  the 
most  flagitious  and  criminal  enjoyment  of  some  delicious  little 
Havanas,  ten  to  the  shilling.  In  that  building  there  were  stables 
once,  doubtless  occupied  by  great  Flemish  horses  and  rumbling 

fold  coaches  of  Walpole's  time ;  but  a  celebrated  surgeon,  when 
e  took  possession  of  the  house,  made  a  leeture-room  of  the 
.  premises — "And  this  door,"  says  Phil,  pointing  to  one.  leading 
into  the  mews,  "was  very  convenient  for  having  the  bodies  in  and 
out" — a  cheerful  reminiscence.  Of  this  kind  of  furniture  there 
was  now  very  little  in  the  apartment,  except  a  dilapidated  skele- 
ton in  a  corner,  a  few  dusty  casts  of  heads,  and  bottles  of  prepa- 
rations on  the  top  of  an  old  bureau,  and  some  mildewed  harness 
hanging  on  the  walls.  This  apartment  became  Mr.  Phil's 
smoking-room  when,  as  he  grew  taller,  he  felt  himself  too  digni- 
fied to  sit  in  the  kitchen  regions;  the  honest  butler  and  house- 


24  THIS   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

keeper  themselves  pointing  out  to  their  young  master  that  his 
place  was  elsewhere  than  among  the  servants.  So  there,  pri- 
vately and  with  great  delectation,  we  smoked  many  an  abomi- 
nable cigar  in  this  dreary  back-room,  the  gaunt  walls  and 
twilight  ceilings  of  which  were  by  no  means  melancholy  to  us, 
wholbund  forbidden  pleasures  the  sweetest,  after  the  absurd 
fashion  of  boys.  Dr.  Firmin  was  an  enemy  to  smoking,  and 
ever  accustomed  to  speak  of  the  practice  with  eloquent  indigna- 
tion. "It  was  a  low  practice — the  habit  of  cabmen,  pot-house 
frequenters,  and  Irish  apple-women,"  the  doctor  would  say,  as 
Phil  aud  his  friend  looked  at  each  other  with  a  stealthy  joy. 
Phil's  father  was  ever  scented  and  neat,  the  pattern  of  hand- 
some propriety.  Perhaps  he  had  a  clearer  perception  regard- 
ing manners  than  respecting  morals ;  perhaps  his  conversation 
was  full  of  platitudes,  his  talk  (concerning  people  of  fashion 
chiefly)  mean  and  uninstructive;  his  behavior  to  young  Lord 
Egham  rather  fulsome  and  lacking  in  dignity.  Perhaps,  I  say, 
the  idea  may  have-  entered  into  young  Mr.  Pendennis'  mind 
that  his  hospitable  entertainer  and  friend,  Dr.  Firmin,  of  Old 
Parr  street,  was  whali  at  the  present  day  might  be  denominated 
an  old  humbug  ;  but  modest  young  men  do  not  come  quickly  to 
such  unpleasant  conclusions  regarding  their  seniors.  Dr.  Fir- 
min's  manners  were  so  good,  his  forehead  was  so  high,  his  frill  so 
fresh,  his  hands  so  white  and  slim,  that  for  some  considerable 
time  we  ingenuously  admired  him ;  and  it  was  not  without  a 
pang  that  we  came  to  view  him  as  he  actually  was — no,  not  as 
he  actually  was — no  man  whose  early  nurture  was  kindly  can 
judge  quite  impartially  the  man  who  has  been  kind  to  him  in 
boyhood. 

I  quitted  school  suddenly,  leaving  my  little  Phil  behind  me,  a 
brave  little  handsome  boy,  endearing  himself  to  old  and  young 
by  his  good  looks,  his  gayety,  his  courage,  and  his  gentlemanly 
bearing.  Once  in  a  way  a  letter  would  come  from  him,  full  of 
that  artless  affection  and  tenderness  which  fills  boys'  hearts,  and 
is  so  touching  in  their  letters.  It  was  answered  with  proper  dig- 
nity and  condescension  on  the  senior  boy's  part.  Our  modest 
little  country  home  kept  up  a  friendly  intercourse  with  Dr.  Fir- 
min's  grand  London  mansion,  of  which,  in  his  visits  to  us,  my 
uncle,  Major  Pendennis,  did  not  fail  to  bring  news.  A  corres- 
pondence took  place  between  the  ladies  of  each  house.  We  sup- 
plied Mrs.  Firmin  with  little  country  presents,  tokens  of  my 
mother's  good-will  and  gratitude  toward  the  friends  who  had 
been  kind  to  her  son.  I  went  my  way  to  the  university,  having 
occasional  glimpses  of  Phil  at  school.  I  took  chambers  in  the 
Temple,  which  he  found  great  delight  in  visiting  ;  and  he  liked 
our  homely  dinner  from  Dick's,  and  a  bed  on  the  sofa,  better 
than  the  splendid  entertainments  in  Old  Parr  street  and  his 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  26 

great  gloomy  chamber  there.  He  had  grown  by  this  time  to 
be  ever  so  much  taller  than  his  senior,  though  he  always  persists 
in  looking  up  to  me  unto  the  present  day. 

A  very  few  weeks  after  my  poor  mother  passed  that  judgment 
on  Mrs.  Firmin,  she  saw  reason  to  regret  and  revoke  it.  Phil's 
mother,  who  was  afraid,  or  perhaps  was  forbidden,  to  attend  her 
son  in  his  illness  at  school,  was  taken  ill  herself. 

Phil  returned  to  Grey  Friars  in  a  deep  suit  of  black  ;  the  ser- 
vants on  the  carriage  wore  black  too ;  and  a  certain  tyrant  of  the 
place,  beginning  to  laugh  and  jeer  because  Firmin's  eyes  filled 
with  tears  at  some  ribald  remark,  was  gruffly  rebuked  by  Samp- 
■on  major,  the  cock  of  the  whole  school;  and  with  the  question, 
"  Don't  you  see  the  poor  beggar  's  in  mourning,  you  great 
brute  ?"  was  kicked  about  his  business. 

When  Philip  Firmin  and  I  met  again  there  was  crape  on  both 
our  hats.  I  don't  think  either  could  see  the  other's  face  very 
well.  I  went  to  see  him  in  Parr  street,  in  the  vacant,  melancholy 
house,  where  the  poor  mother's  picture  was  yet  hanging  in  her 
empty  drawing-room. 

"  She  was  always  fond  of  you,  Pendennis,"  said  Phil.  "  God 
bless  you  for  being  so  good  to  her  !  You  know  what  it  is  to  lose 
— to  lose  what  loves  you  best  in  the  world.  I  did  n't  know  how 
—how  I  loved  her  till  I  had  lost  her."  And  many  a  sob  broke 
his  words  as  he  spoke. 

Her  picture  was  removed  from  the  drawing-room  presently 
into  Phil's  own  little  study — the  room  in  which  he  sate  and  de- 
fied his  father.  What  had  passed  between  them  ?  The  young 
man  was  very  much  changed.  The  frank  looks  of  old  days  were 
gone,  and  Phil's  face  was  haggard  and  bold.  The  doctor  would 
not  let  me  have  a  word  more  with  his  son  after  he  had  found  us 
together,  but,  with  dubious  appealing  looks,  followed  me  to  the 
door,  and  shut  it  upon  me.  I  felt  that  it  closed  upon  two  un- 
happy men. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A     CONSULTATION. 

Should  I  peer  into  Firmin's  privacy,  and  find  the  key  to 
that  secret  ?  What  skeleton  was  there  in  the  closet  ?  In  the 
last  Cornhill  Magazine  you  may  remember  there  were  some 
verses  about  a  portion  of  a  skeleton.  Did  you  remark  how  the 
poet  and  present  proprietor  of  the  human  skull  at  once  settled 
the  sex  of  it,  and  determined  off-hand  that  it  must  have  belong- 
ed to  a  woman  ?  Such  skulls  are  locked  up  in  many  gentlemen's 
hearts  and  memories.  Bluebeard,  you  know,  had  a  whole  mu- 
3 


20  THE,  ADVENTURES  OP   PHILIP 

srtum  of  them — as  that  imprudent  little  last  wife  of  his  found  out 
to  her  cost.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  a  lady,  we  suppose,  would 
select  hers  of  the  sort  which  had  carried  beards  when  in  the 
flesh.  Given  a  neat  locked  skeleton  cupboard,  belonging  to  a 
man  of  a  certain  age,  to  ascertain  the  sex  of  the  original  owner 
of  the  bones,  you  have  not  much  need  of  a  picklock  or  a  black- 
smith. There  is  no  use  in  forcing  the  hinge  or  scratching  the 
pretty  panel.  We  know  what  is  inside — we  arch  rogues  and 
men  of  the  world.  Murders,  I  suppose,  are  not  many — enemies 
and  victims  of  our  hate  and  anger,  destroyed  and  trampled  out 
of  life  by  us,  and  locked  out  of  sight ;  but  corpses  of  our  dead 
loves,  my  dear  sir — my  dear  madam — have  we  not  got  them 
stowed  away  in  cupboard  after  cupboard,  in  bottle  after  bottle  ? 
Oh,  fie  !  And  young  people  !  What  doctrine  is  this  to  preach 
to  them,  who  spell  your  book  by  papa's  and  mamma's  knee  ? 
Yes,  ancThow  wrong  it  is  to  let  them  go  to  church,  and  see  and 
hear  papa  and  mamma  publicly,  on  their  knees,  calling  out,  and 
confessing  to  the  whole  congregation,  that  they  are  sinners  !  So, 
though  I  had  not  the  key,  I  could  see  through  the  panel  and  the 
glimmering  of  the  skeleton  inside. 

Although  the  elder  Firmin  followed  me  to  the  door,  and  his 
eves  only  left  me  as  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  I  felt  sure 
that  Phil,  ere  long,  would  open  his  mind  to  me,  or  give  me  some 
clew  to  that  mystery.  I  should  hear  from  him  why  his  bright 
cheeks  had  become  hollow,  why  his  fresh  voice,  which  I  remem- 
ber so  honest  and  cheerful,  was  now  harsh  and  sarcastic,  with 
tones  that  often  grated  on  the  hearer,  and  laughter  that  gave 
pain.  It  was  about  Philip  himself  that  my  anxieties  were.  The 
young  fellow  had  inherited  from  his  poor  mother  a  considerable 
fortune — some  eight  or  nine  hundred  a  year,  we  always  under- 
stood. He  was  living  in  a  costly,  not  to  say  extravagant,  man- 
ner. I  thought  Mr.  Philip's  juvenile  remorses  were  locked  up  in 
the  skeleton  closet,  and  was  grieved  to  think  he  had  fallen  in 
mischief's  way.  Hence,  no  doubt,  might  arise  the  anger  between 
him  and  his  father.  The  boy  was  extravagant  and  headstrong ; 
and  the  parent  remonstrant  and  irritated. 

I  met  my  old  friend  Dr.  Goodenough  at  the  club  one  evening ; 
and  as  we  dined  together  I  discoursed  with  him  about  his  former 
patient,  and  recalled  to  him  that  day,  years  back,  when  the  boy 
was  ill  at  school,  and  when  my  poor  mother  and  Phil's  own  were 
yet  alive. 

Goodenough  looked  very  grave. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  boy  was  very  ill ;  he  was  nearly  gone  at 
that  time — at  that  time — when  his  mother  was  in  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  and  his  father  dangling  after  a  prince.  We  thought  one 
day  it  was  all  over  with  him ;  but — " 

"  But  a  good  doctor  interposed  between  him  and  pallida 
mors," 


m 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  27 

"  A  good  doctor  ?  a  good  nurse  1  The  boy  was  delirious,  and 
had  a  fancy  to  walk  out  of  window,  and  would  have  done  so  but 
for  one  of  rav  nurses.     You  know  her." 

"  What !  the  Little  Sister  ?" 

"  Yes,  the  Little  Sister." 

"  And  it  was  she  who  nursed  Phil  through  his  fever,  and  aaved 
his  life  ?     I  drink  her  health.     She  is  a  good  little  soul." 

"  Good,"  said  the  doctor,  with  his  gruffest  voice  and  frown. 
(He  was  always  most  fierce  when  he  was  most  tender-hearted.) 
"Good,  indeed  !  Will  you  have  some  more  of  this  duck  ?  Do. 
You  have  had  enough  already,  and  it 's  very  unwholesome.  Good, 
sir  ?  But  for  women,  fire  and  brimstone  ought  to  come  down 
and  consume  this  world.  Your  dear  mother  was  one  of  the 
good  ones.  I  was  attending  you  when  you  were  ill,  at  those 
horrible  chambers  you  had  in  the  Temple,  at  the  same  time  when 
young  Firmin  was  ill  at  Grey  Friars.  And  I  suppose  I  must  be 
answerable  for  keeping  two  scapegraces  in  the  world." 

"  Why  didn't  Dr.  Firmin  come  to  see  him  ?" 

"  Hm !  his  nerves  were  too  delicate.  Besides,  he  did  come. 
Talk  of  the  *  *  *  " 

The  personage  designated  by  asterisks  was  Phil's  father,  who 
was  also  a  member  of  our  club,  and  who  entered  the  dining- 
room,  tall,  stately,  and  pale,  with  his  stereotyped  smile,  and 
wave  of  his  pretty  hand.  By  the  way,  that  smile  of  Firmin's 
was  a  very  queer  contortion  of  the  handsome  features.  As  you 
came  up  to  him  he  would  draw  his  lips  over  his  teeth,  causing  his 
jaws  to  wrinkle  (or  dimple,  if  you  will)  on  either  side.  Mean- 
while his  eyes  looked  out  from  his  face,  quite  melancholy  and  in- 
dependent of  the  little  transaction  in  which  the  mouth  was 
engaged.  Lips  said,  "  I  am  a  gentleman  of  fine  manners  and 
fascinating  address,  and  I  am  supposed  to  be  happy  to  see  you. 
How  do  you  do  ?"  Dreary,  sad,  as  into  a  great  blank  desert, 
looked  the  dark  eyes.  I  do  know  one  or  two,  but  only  one  or 
two,  faces  of  men,  when  oppressed  with  care,  which  can  yet 
smile  all  over. 

Goodenough  nods  grimly  to  the  smile  of  the  other  doctor,  who 
blandly  looks  at  our  table,  holding  his  chin  in  one  of  his  pretty 
hands. 

"  How  do  ?"  growls  Goodenough.     "  Young  hopeful  well." 

"  Young  hopeful  sits  smoking  cigars  till  morning  with  some 
friends  of  his,"  says  Firmin,  with  the  sad  smile  directed  toward 
me  this  time.  "  Boys  will  be  boys."  And  he  pensively  walks 
away  from  us  with  a  friendly  nod  toward  me  ;  examines  the  din- 
ner-card in  an  attitude  of  melancholy  grace ;  points  with  the 
jeweled  hand  to  the  dishes  which  he  will  have  served,  and  is  off, 
and  simpering  to  another  acquaintance  at  a  distant  table. 

"  I  thought  he  would  take  that  table,"  says  Firmin's  cynical 
confrere. 


»8  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  In  the  draught  of  the  door  ?     Don't  you  see  how  the  candle 

nickers  ?     It  is  the  worst  place  in  the  room  !" 

"  Yes ;  but  don't  you  see  who  is  sitting  at  the  next  table  ?" 
Now  at  the  next  table  was  a  n-blem-n  of  vast  wealth,  who 

was  growling  at  the  quality  of  the  mutton  cutlets,  and  the  half- 

f>int  of  sherry  which  he  had  ordered  for  his  dinner.  But  as  his 
ordship  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  ensuing  history,  of  course  we 
shall  not  violate  confidence  by  mentioning  his  name.  We  could 
see  Firmin  smiling. on  his  neighbor  with  his  blandest  melan- 
choly, and  the  waiters  presently  bearing  up  the  dishes  which  the 
doctor  had  ordered  for  his  own  refection.  He  was  no  lover  of 
mutton-chops  and  coarse  sherry,  as  I  knew,  who  had  partaken  of 
many  a  feast  at  his  board.  I  could  see  the  diamond  twinkle  on 
his  pretty  hand,  as  it  daintily  poured  out  creaming  wine  from 
the  ice-pail  by  his  side — the  liberal  hand  that  had  given  me 
many  a  sovereign  when  I  was  a  boy. 

"I  can't  help  liking  him,"  I  said  to  my  companion,  whose 
scornful  eyes  were  now  and  again  directed  toward  his  colleague. 

"  THis  port  is  very  sweet.  Almost  all  port  is  sweet  now,"  re- 
marks the  doctor. 

"  He  was  very  kind  to  me  in  my  school-days ;  and  Philip  was 
a,fine  little  fellow. 

"  Handsome  a  boy  as  ever  I  saw.  Does  he  keep  his  beauty  ? 
Father  was  a  handsome  man — very.  Quite  a  lady-killer — I 
mean  out  of  his  practice !"  adds  the  grim  doctor.  "  What  is 
the  boy  doing  ?" 

"  He  is  at  the  university.  He  has  his  mother's  fortune.  He 
is  wild  and  unsettled,  and  I  fear  he  is  going  to  the  bad  a  little." 

"  Is  he  ?     Should  n't  wonder  !"  grumbles  Goodenough. 

We  had  talked  very  frankly  and  pleasantly  until  the  appear- 
ance of  the  other  doctor,  but  with  Firmin's  arrival  Goodenough 
seemed  to  button  up  his  conversation.  He  quickly  stumped 
away  from  the  dining-room  to  the  drawing-room,  and  sate  over  a 
novel  there  until  time  came  when  he  was  to  retire  to  his  patients 
or  his  home. 

That  there  was  no  liking  between  the  doctors,  that  there  was 
a  difference  between  Philip  and  his  father,  was  clear  enough  to 
me  ;  but  the  causes  of  these  differences  I  had  yet  to  learn.  The 
story  came  to  me  piecemeal ;  from  confessions  here,  admissions 
there,  deductions  of  my  own.  I  could  not,  of  course,  be  present 
at  many  of  the  scenes  which  I  shall  have  to  relate  as  though  I 
had  witnessed  them;  and  the  posture,  language,  and  inward 
thoughts  of  Philip  and  his  friends,  as  here  related,  no  doubt  are 
fancies  of  the  narrator  in  many  cases  ;  but  the  story  is  as  authen- 
tic as  many  historic*,  and  the  reader  need  only  give  such  an 
amount  of  credence  to  it  as  he  may  judge  that  its  verisimilitude 
warrants. 

Well,  then,  we  must  not  only  revert  to  that  illness  which  be- 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THB   WORLD.  29 

fell  when  Philip  Firmin  was  a  boy  at  Grey  Friars,  but  go  back 
yet  further  in  time  to  a  period  which  I  can  not  precisely 
ascertain. 

The  pupils  of  old  Gandish's  painting  academy  may  remember 
a  ridiculous  little  man,  with  a  great  deal  of  wild  talent,  about 
the  ultimate  success  of  which  his  friends  were  divided.  Wheth- 
er Andrew  was  a  genius,  or  whether  he  was  a  zany,  was  always 
a  moot  question  among  the  frequenters  of  the  Greek  street 
billiard-rooms,  and  the  noble  disciples  of  the  Academy  and  St. 
Martin's  lane.  He  may  have  been  crazy  and  absurd ;  he  may 
have  had  talent,  too  ;  such  characters  are  not  unknown  in  art  or 
in  literature.  He  broke  the  Queen's  English ;  he  was  ignorant 
to  a  wonder ;  he  dressed  his  little  person  in  the  most  fantastic 
raiment  and  queerest  cheap  finery ;  he  wore  a  beard,  bless  my 
soul !  twenty  years  before  beards  were  known  to  wag  in  Britain. 
He  was  the  most  affected  little  creature,  and,  if  you  looked  at 
him,  would  pose  in  attitudes  of  such  ludicrous  dirty  dignity,  that 
if  you  had  had  a  dun  waiting  for  money  in  the  hall  of  your  lodg- 
ing-house, or  your  picture  refused  at  the  Academy — if  you  were 
suffering  under  ever  so  much  calamity — you  could  not  help 
laughing.  He  was  the  butt  of  all  his  acquaintances,  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  high  and  low,  and  he  had  as  loving,  gentle,  faithful, 
honorable  a  heart  as  ever  beat  in  a  little  bosom.  He  is  gone  to 
his  rest  now  ;  his  pallet  and  easel  are  waste  timber  ;  his  genius, 
which  made  some  little  flicker  of  brightness,  never  shown  much, 
and  is  extinct.  In  an  old  album,  that  dates  back  for  more  than 
a  score  of  years,  I  sometimes  look  at  poor  Andrew's  strange  wild 
sketches.  He  might  have  done  something  had  he  continued  to 
remain  poor ;  but  a  rich  widow,  whom  he  met  at  Rome,  fell  in 
love  with  the  strange  errant  painter,  pursued  him  to  England, 
and  married  him  in  "spite  of  himself.  His  genius  drooped  under 
the  servitude ;  he  lived  but  a  few  short  years,  and  died  of  a  con- 
sumption, of  which  the  good  Goodenough's  skill  could  not  cure 
him. 

One  day,  as  he  was. driving  with  his  wife  in  her  splendid  ba- 
rouche through  the  Hayinarket,  he  suddenly  bade  the  coachman 
stop,  sprang  over  the  side  of  the  carriage  before  the  steps  could^ 
be  let  fall,  and  his  astonished  wife  saw  him  shaking  the  hands  of 
a  shabbily-dressed  little  woman  who  was  passing — shaking  both 
her  hands,  and  weeping,  and  gesticulating,  and  twisting  his 
beard  and  mustache,  as  his  wont  was  when  agitated.  Mrs. 
Montfitchet  (the  wealthy  Mrs.  Carricidergus  she  had  been,  be- 
fore she  married  the  painter),  the  owner  of  a  young  husband, 
who  had  sprung  from  her  side,  and  out  of  her  carriage,  in  order 
to  caress  a  young  woman  passing  in  the  street,  might  well  be  dis- 
turbed by  this  demonstration ;  but  she  was  a  kind-hearted 
woman,  and  when  Montfitchet.  on  reascending  into  the  family 


80  THE    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

coach,  told  his  wife  the  history  of  the  person  of  whom  he  had 
just  taken  leave,  she  cried  plentifully  too.  She  bade  the  coach- 
man drive  straightway  to  her  own  house ;  she  rushed  up  to  her 
own  apartments,  whenee  she  emerged  bearing  an  immense  bag 
full  of  wearing  apparel,  and  followed  by  a  panting  butler,  carry- 
ing a  bottle-basket  and  a  pie;  and  she  drove  off,  with  her 
pleased  Andrew  by  her  side,  to  a  court  in  Saint  Martin's  lane, 
where  dwelt  the  poor  woman  with  whom  he  had  just  been  con- 
versing. 

It  had  pleased  Heaven,  in  the  midst  of  dreadful  calamity,  to 
send  her  friends  and  succor.  She  was  suffering  under  misfor- 
tune, poverty,  and  cowardly  desertion.  A  man  who  had  called 
himself  Brandon  when  he  took  lodgings  in  her  father's  house, 
had  married  her,  brought  her  to  London,  tired  of  her,  and  left 
her.  She  had  reason  to  think  he  had  given  a  false  name  when 
he  lodged  with  her  father ;  he  fled,  after  a  few  months,  and  his 
real  name  she  never  knew.  When  he  deserted  her  she  went 
back  to  her  father,  a  weak  man,  married  to  a  domineering 
woman,  who  pretended  to  disbelieve  the  story  of  her  marriage, 
and  drove  her  from  the  door.  Desperate,  and  almost  mad,  she 
came  back  to  London,  where  she  still  had  some  little  relics  of 
property  that  her  fugitive  husband  left  behind  him.  He  prom- 
ised, when  he  left  her,  to  remit  her  money  ;  but  he  sent  none,  or 
she  refused  it — or,  in  her  wildness  and  despair,  lost  the  dreadful 
paper  which  announced  his  desertion,  and  that  he  was  married 
before,  and  that  to  pursue  him  would  ruin  him,  and  he  knew  she 
never  would  do  that — no,  however  much  he  might  have  wronged 
her. 

She  was  penniless  then — deserted  by  all — having  made  away 
with  the  last  trinket  of  her  brief  days  of  love,  having  sold  the 
last  little  remnant  of  her  poor  little  stock  of  clothing — alone,  in 
the  great  wilderness  of  London,  when  it  pleased  God  to  send  her 
succor  in  the  person  of  an  old  friend  who  had  -known  her,  and 
even  loved  her,  in  happier  days.  When  the  Samaritans  came  to 
this  poor  child  they  found  her  sick  and  shuddering  with  fever. 
They  brought  their  doctor  to  her,  who  is  never  so  eager  as  when 
he  runs  up  a  poor  man's  stair.  And  as  he  watched  by  the  bed 
where  her  kind  friends  came  to  help  her,  he  heard  her  sad  little 
story  of  trust  and  desertion. 

Her  father  was  a  humble  person,  who  had  seen  better  days ; 
and  poor  little  Mrs.  Brandon  had  a  sweetness  and  simplicity  of 
manner  which  exceedingly  touched  the  good  doctor.  She  bad 
little  education,  except  that  whjch  silence,  long-suffering,  seclu- 
sion, will  sometimes  give.  When  cured  of  her  illness  there  was 
the  great  and  constant  evil  of  poverty  to  meet  and  overcome. 
Hoav  was  she  to  live  ?  He  got  to  be  as  fond  of  her  as  of  a  child 
of  his  own.     She  was  tidy,  thrifty,  gay  at  times,  with  a  little  sim- 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   $HE   WORLD.  81 

pie  cheerfulness.  The  little  flowers  began  to  bloom  as  the  sun- 
shine touched  them.  Her  whole  life  hitherto  had  been  cowering 
under  neglect,  and  tyranny,  and  gloom. 

Mr.  Montfitchet  was  for  coming  so  often  to  look  after  the 
little  outcast  whom  he  had  succored  that  I  am  bound  to  say  Mrs. 
M.  became  hysterically  jealous,  and  waited  for  him  on  the  stairs 
as  he  came  down  swathed  in  his  Spanish  cloak,  pounced,  on  him, 
and  called  him  a  monster.  Goodenough  was  also,  I  fancy,  sus- 
picious of  Montfitchet,  and  Montfitchet  of  Goodenough.  How- 
Deit,  the  doctor  vowed  that  he  never  had  other  ttian  the  feeling 
of  a  father  toward  his  poor  little  proetg^  nor  could  any  father  be 
more  tender.  He  did  not  try  to  take  her  out  of  her  station  in 
life.  He  found,  or  she  found  for  herself,  a  work  which  she  could 
do.  "  Papa  used  to  say  no  one  ever  nursed  him  so  nice  as  I  did," 
she  said.  "  I  think  I  could  do  that  better  than  anything,  except 
my  needle,  but  I  like  to  be  useful  to  poor  sick  people  best.  I 
don't  think  about  myself  then,  sir."  And  for  this  business  good 
Mr.  Goodenough  had  her  educated  and  employed. 

The  widow  died  in  course  of  time  whom  Mrs.  Brandon's 
father  had  married,  and  her  daughters  refused  to  keep  him, 
speaking  very  disrespectfully  of  this  old  Mr.  Gann,  who  was, 
indeed,  a  weak  old  man.  And  now  Caroline  came  to  the  rescue 
of  her  old  father.  She  was  a  shrewd  little  Caroline.  She  had 
saved  a  little  money.  Goodenough  gave  up  a  country-house, 
which  he  did  not  care  to  use,  and  lent  Mrs.  Brandon  the  furni- 
ture. She  thought  she  could  keep  a  lodging-house  and  find  lodg- 
ers. Montfitchet  had  painted  her.  There  was  a  sort  of  beauty 
about  her  which  the  artists  admired.  When  Ridley,  the  Acade- 
mician, had  the  small-pox,  she  attended  him  and  caught  the 
malady.  She  did  not  mind ;  not  she.  "  It  won't  spoil  my 
beauty,"  she  said.  Nor  did  it.  The,  disease  dealt  very  kindly 
with  her  little  modest,  face.  I  don't  know  who  gave  her  the  nick- 
name, but  she  had  a  good  roomy  house  in  Thornhaugh  street,  an 
artist  on  the  first  and  second  floor  ;  and  there  never  was  a  word 
of  scandal  against  the  Little  Sister,  for  was  not  her  father  in  per- 
manence sipping  gin-and-water  in  the  ground-floor  parlor  ?  As 
we  called  her  the  "  Little  Sister,"  her  father  was  called  "  the 
Captain" — a  bragging,  lazy,  good-natured  old  man — not  a  repu- 
table captain — and  very  cheerful,  though  the  conduct  of  his 
children,  he  said,  had  repeatedly  broken  his  heart. 

I  don't  know  how  many  years  the  Little  Sister  had  been  on 
duty  when  Philip  Firmin  had  his  scarlet-fever.  It  befell  him  at 
the  end  of  the  term,  just  when  all  the  boys  were  going  home. 
His  tutor  and  his  tutor's  wife  wanted  their  holidays,  and  sent 
their  own  children  out  of  the  way.  As  Phil's  father  was  absent, 
Dr.  Goodenough  came,  and  sent  his  nurse  in.  The  case  grew 
worse  ;  so  bad  that-Dr.  Firmin  was  summoned  from  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  and  arrived  one  evening  at  Grey  Friars — Grey  Friars  so 


32  THE    ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

silent  now,  so  noisy  at  other  times  with  the  shouts  and  crowds  of 
the  playground. 

Dr.  Goodenough's  carriage  was  at  the  door  when  Dr.  Firmin's 
carriage  drove  up. 

"  How  was  the  boy  ?" 

"  He  had  been  very  bad.  He  had  been  wrong  in  the  head  all 
day,  talking  and  laughing  quite  wild-like,"  the  servant  said. 

The  father  ran  up  the  stairs. 

Phil  was  in  a  great  room,  in  which  were  several  empty  beds  of 
boys  gone  home  for  the  holidays.  The  windows  were  opened 
into  Grey  Friars'  square.  Goodenough  heard  his  colleague's 
carriage  drive  up,  and  rightly  divined  that  Phil's  father  had 
arrived.     He  came  out  and  met  Firmin  in  the  ante-room. 

"  Head  has  wandered  a  little.  Better  now,  and  quiet,"  and 
the  one  doctor  murmured  to  the  other  the  treatment  which  he 
had  pursued. 

Firmin  stepped  in  gently  toward  the  patient,  near  whose  side 
the  Little  Sister  was  standing. 

"  Who  is  it  ?"  asked  Phil. 

"  It  is  I,  dear.  Your  father,"  said  Dr.  Firmin,  with  real  ten- 
derness in  his  voice. 

The  Little  Sister  turned  round  once,  and  fell  down  like  a 
stone  by  the  bedside. 

"  You  infernal  villain  !"  said  Goodenough,  with  an  oath  and  a 
step  forward.     "  You  are  the  man  !" 

"  Hush !  The  patient,  if  you  please,  Dr.  Goodenough,"  said 
the  other  physician. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A      GENTEEL      FAMILY. 
t 

Have  you  made  up  your  mind  on  the  question  of  seeming  and 
being  in  the  world  ?  I  mean,  suppose  you  are  poor,  is  it  right  for 
you  to  seem  to  be  well  off?  Have  people  an  honest  right  to 
keep  up  appearances  ?  Are  you  justified  in  starving  your  dinner- 
table  in  order  to  keep  a  carriage ;  to  have  such  an  expensive 
house  that  you  can't  by  any  possibility  help  a  poor  relation  ;  to 
array  your  daughters  in  costly  milliners'  wares  because  they  live 
with  girls  whose  parents  are  twice  as  rich  ?  Sometimes  it  is  hard 
to  .say  where  honest  pride  ends  and  hypocrisy  begins.  To  ob- 
trude your  poverty  is  mean  and  slavish;  as  it  is  odious  for  a 
beggar  to  ask  compassion  by  showing  his  sores.  But  to  simulate 
prosperity — to  be  wealthy  and  lavish  thrice  a  year  when  you 
ask  your  friends,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  time  to"  munch  a  crust 
and  sit  by  one  candle — are  the  folks  who  practice  this  deceit 


*3j 

- 

m 

£*■ 

'^fEsBS 

.  •ajBj 

HW/fr    A/ATHAN  SAID    UNTO   DAV/D 


ON   HIS    WAT   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  33 

worthy  of  applause  or  a  whipping?  Sometimes  it  is  noble 
pride,  sometime  shabby  swindling.  When  I  see  Eugenia  with 
her  dear  children  exquisitely  neat  and  cheerful;  not  showing 
the  slightest  semblance  of  poverty,  or  uttering  the  smallest  com- 
plaint; persisting  that  Squanderfield,  her  husband,  treats  her 
well,  and  is  good  at  heart ;  and  denying  that  he  leaves  her  and 
her  young  ones  in  want ;  I  admire  and  reverence  that  noble 
falsehood — that  beautiful  constancy  and  endurance  which  dis- 
dains to  ask  compassion.  When  I  sit  at  poor  Jezebella's  table, 
and  am  treated  to  her  sham  bounties  and  shabby  splendor,  I 
only  feel  anger  for  the  hospitality,  and  that  dinner,  and  guest, 
and  host,  are  humbugs  together. 

Talbot  Twysden's  dinner-table  is  large,  and  the  guests  most 
respectable.  There  is  always  a  bigwig  or  two  present,  and  a 
dining  dowager,  who  frequents  the  greatest  houses.  There  is  a 
butler  who  offers  you  wine ;  there's  a  menu  du  diner  before  Mrs. 
Twysden ;  and  to  read  it  you  would  fancy  you  were  at  a  good 
dinner.  It  tastes  of  chopped  straw.  Oh,  the  dreary  sparkle  of 
that  feeble  champagne ;  the  audacity  of  that  public-house 
sherry;  the  swindle  of  that  acrid  claret;  the  fiery  twang  of  that 
clammy  port !  I  have  tried  them  all,  I  tell  you !  It  is  sham 
wine,  a  sham  dinner,  a  sham  welcome,  a  sham  cheerfulness 
among  the  guests  assembled.  I  feel  that  that  woman  eyes  and 
counts  the  cutlets  as  they  are  carried  off  the  tables  ;  perhaps 
watches  that  one  which  you  try  to  swallow.  She  has  counted 
and  grudged  each  candle  by  which  the  cook  prepares  the  meal. 
Does  her  big  coachman  fatten  himself  on  purloined  oats  and 
beans,  and  Thorley's  food  for  cattle  ?  Of  the  rinsings  ofcthose 
wretched  bottles  the  butler  will  have  to  give  a  reckoning  in  the 
morning.  Unless  you  are  of  the  very  great  monde,  Twysden 
and  his  wife  think  themselves  better  than  you  are,  and  seriously 
patronize  you.  They  consider  it  is  a  privilege  to  be  invited  to 
those  horrible  meals,  to  which  they  gravely  ask  the  greatest  folks 
in  the  country.  I  actually  met  Winton  there — the  famous  Win- 
ton — the  best  dinner-giver  in  the  world  (ah,  what  a  position  for 
a  man !).  I  watched  him,**  and  marked  the  sort  of  wonder 
which  came  over  him  as  he  tasted  and  sent  away  dish  after  dish, 
glass  after  glass.  "  Try  that  Chfiteau  Margaux,  Winton  !"  calls 
out  the  host.  "  It  is  some  that  Bottleby  and  I  imported."  Im- 
ported! I  see  Winton's  face  as  he  tastes  the  wine,  and  puts  it 
down.  He  does  not  like  to  talk  about  that  dinner.  He  has 
lost  a  day.  Twysden  will  continue  to  ask  him  every  year  ;  will 
continue  to  expect  to  be  asked  in  return,  with  Mrs.  Twysden 
and  one  of  his  daughters  ;  and  will  express  his  surprise  loudly 
at  the  club,  saying,  "  Hang  Winton!  Deuce  take  the  fellow  ! 
He  has  sent  me  no  game  this  year !"  When  foreign  dukes  and 
princes  arrive,  Twysden  straightway  collars  them,  and  invites 
them  to  his  house.  And  sometimes  they  go  once — and  then  ask 
4 


34  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"  Qui  done  est  ce  Monsieur  Tvisden,  qui  est  si  drole  V  And  he 
elbows  bis  way  up  to  tbem  at  the  Minister's  assemblies,  and 
frankly  gives  them  his  hand.  And  calm  Mrs.  Twysden  wriggles, 
and  works,  and  slides,  and  pushes,  and  tramples  if  need  be,  her 
girls  following  behind  her,  until  she  too  has  come  up  under  the 
eyes  of  the  great  man,  and  bestowed  on  him  a  smile  and  a 
courtesy.  Twysden  grasps  prosperity  cordially  by  the  hand. 
He  says  to  success,  "  Bravo  !"  On  the  contrary,  I  never  saw  a 
man  more  resolute  in  not  knowing  unfortunate  people,  or  more 
daringly  forgetful  of  those  whom  he  does  not  care  to  remember. 
If  this  Levite  met  a  wayfarer,  going  down  from  Jerusalem,  who 
had  fallen  among  thieves,  do  you  think  he  would  stop  to  rescue 
the  fallen  man  ?  He  would  neither  give  wine,  nor  oil,  nor 
money.  He  would  pass  on  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  own 
virtue,  and  leave  the  other  to  go,  as  best  he  might,  to  Jericho. 

What  is  this  ?  Am  I  angry  because  Twysden  has  left  off 
asking  me  to  his  vinegar  and  chopped  hay  ?  No.  I  think  not. 
Am  1  hurt  because  Mrs.  Twysden  sometimes  patronizes  my  wife, 
and  sometimes  cuts  her  ?  Perhaps.  Only  women  thoroughly 
know  the  insolence  of  women  toward  one  another  in  the  worW. 
That  is  a  very  stale  remark.  They  receive  and  deliver  stabs, 
smiling  politely.  Tom  Sayers  could  not  take  punishment  more 
gayly  than  they  do.  If  you  could  but  see  under  the  skin,  you 
would  find  their  little  hearts  scarred  all  over  with  little  lancet 
digs.  I  protest  I  have  seen  my  own  wife  enduring  the  imperti- 
nence of  this  woman  with  a  face  as  calm  and  placid  as  she 
wears  when  old  Twysden  himself  is  talking  to  her,  and  pouring 
out  one  of  his  maddening  long  stories.  Oh  no  !  I  am  not  angry 
at  all.  I  can  see  that  by  the  way  in  which  I  am  writing  of 
these  folks.  By  the  way,  while  I  am  giving  this  candid  opinion 
of  the  Twysdens,  do  I  sometimes  pause  to  consider  what  they 
think  of  me?  What  do  I  care  '?  Think  what  you  like.  Mean- 
while we  bow  to  one  another  at  parties.  We  smile  at  each 
other  in  a  sickly  way.  And  as  for  the  dinners  in  Beaunash 
street,  I  hope  those  who  eat  them  enjoy  their  food. 

Twysden  is  one  of  the  chiefs  no\*  of  the  Powder  and  Poma- 
tum office  (the  pigtail  branch  was  finally  abolished  in  1833, 
after  the  Reform  Bill,  with  a  compensation  to  the  retiring  under- 
secretary), and  his  son  is  a  clerk  m  the  same  office.  When  they 
came  out  the  daughters  were  very  pretty — even  my  wife  allows 
that.  One  of  them,  used  to  ride  in  the  park  with  her  father  or 
brother  daily ;  and  knowing  what  his  salary  and  wife's  fortune 
were,  and  what  the  rent  of  his  house  in  Beaunash  street,  every- 
body wondered  how  the  Twysdens  could  make  both  ends  meet. 
They  had  horses,  carriages,  and  a  great  house  fit  for  at  least 
five  thousand  a  year ;  they  had  not  half  as  much,  as  everybody 
knew  ;  and  it  was  supposed  that  old  Ringwood  must  make  his 
niece  an  allowance.     She  certainly  worked  hard  to  get  it.    I 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THK    WORLD.  35 

spoke  of  stabs  anon,  and  poor  little  breasts  and  sides  scarred  all 
oyer.  No  nuns,  no  monks,  no  fakeers  take  whippings  more 
■  kindly  than  some  devotees  of  the  world  ;  and,  as  the  punishment 
is  one  for  edification,  let  us  hope  the  world  lays  smartly  on  to 
back  and  shoulders,  and  uses  the  thong  well. 

When  old  Ringwood,  at  the  close  of  his  lifetime,  used  to  come 
to  visit  his  dear  niece  and  her  husband  and  children,  he  always 
brought  a  cat-of-nine-tails  in  his  pocket,  and  administered  it  to 
the  whole  household.  He  grinned  at  the  poverty,  the  pretence, 
the  meanness  of  the  people,  as  they  knelt  before  him  and  did 
him  homage.  The  father  and  mother  trembling  brought  the 
girls  up  for  punishment,  and  piteously  smiling,  received  their 
own  boxes  on  the  ear  in  presence  of  their  children.  "  A1i  !"  the 
little  French  governess  used  to  say,  grinding  her  white  teeth,  "  I 
like  milor  to  come.  All  day  you  vip  me.  When  niilor  come  he 
vip  you,  and  you  kneel  down  and  kiss  de  rod." 

They  certainly  knelt  and  took  their  whipping  with  the  most 
exemplary  fortitude.  Sometimes  the  lash  fell  on  papa's  back, 
sometimes  on  mamma's  !  now  it  stung  Agnes,  and  now  it  lighted 
on  Blanche's  pretty  shoulders.  But  I  think  it  was  on  the  heir  of 
the  house,  young  Ringwood  Twysden,  that  my  lord  loved  best  to 
operate.  Ring's  vanity  was  very  thin-skinned,  his  selfishness 
easily  wounded,  and  his  contortions  under  punishment  amused 
the  old  tormentor. 

As  my  lord's  brougham  drives  up'— the  modest  little  brown 
brougham,  with  the  noble  horse,  the  lord  chancellor  of  a  coach- 
man, and  the  ineffable  footman — the  ladies,  who  knew  the  whirr 
of  the  wheels,  and  may  be  quarreling  in  the  drawing-room,  call 
a  truce  to  the  fight,  and  smooth  down  their  ruffled  tempers  and 
raiment.  Mamma  is  writing  at  her  table,  in  that  beautiful,  clear 
hand  which  we  all  admire;  Blanche  is  at  her  book;  Agnes  is 
rising  from  the  piano  quite  naturally.  A  quarrel  betAveen  those 
gentle,  smiling,  delicate  creatures!  Impossible!  About  your 
most  common  piece  of  hypocrisy  how  men  will  blush  and  bungle  ; 
how  easily,  how  gracefully,  how  consummately,  women  will  per- 
form it ! 

"  Well,"  growls  my  lord,  "  you  are  all  in  such  pretty  attitudes 
I  make  no  doubt  you  have  been  sparring.  I  suspect,  Maria,  the 
men  must  know  what  devilish  bad  tempers  the  girls  have  got. 
Who  can  have  seen  you  fighting  ?  You  're  quiet  enough  here, 
you  little  monkeys.  I  tell  you  what  it  is.  Ladies'-maids  get 
about  and  talk  to  the  valets  in  the  housekeeper's  room,  and  the 
men  tell  their  masters.  Upon  my  word  I  believe  it  was  that 
business  last  year  at  Whipham  which  frightened  Greenwood  off. 
Famous  match.  Good  house  in  town  and  country.  No  mother 
alive.     Agnes  might  have  had  it  her  own  way,  but  for  that — " 

"  We  are  not  all  angels  in  our  family,  uncle  !"  cried  Miss 
Agnes,  reddening. 


36  THE   ADVENTURES   OF    THILIP 

M  And  your  mother  is  too  sharp.  The  men  are  afraid  of  you, 
Maria.  I  've  heard  several  young  men  say  so.  At  White's  they 
talk  about  it  quite  freely.  Pity  for  the  girls.  Great  pity. 
Fellows  come  and  tell  me.  Jack  Hall,  and  fellows  who  go  about 
everywhere/' 

"  I'm  .sure  I  don't  care  what  Captain  Hall  says  about  me — 
odious  little  wretch  !"  cries  Blanche. 

"  There  you  go  off  in  a  tantrum  !  Hall  never  has  any  opinion 
of  his  own.  He  only  fetches  and  carries  what  other  people  say. 
And  he  says,  fellows  say  they  are  frightened  of  your  mother.  La 
bless  you !  Hall  has  no  opinion.  A  fellow  might  commit  mur- 
der, and  Hall  would  wait  at  the  door.  Quite  a  discreet  man. 
But  I  told  him  to  ask  about  you.  And  that 's  what  I  hear.  And 
he  says  that  Agnes  is  making  eyes  at  the  doctor's  boy." 

"  It 's  a  shame,"  cried  Agnes,  shedding  tears  under  her  mar- 
tyrdom. 

"  Older  than  he  is ;  but  that 's  no  obstacle.  Good-looking  boy ; 
I  suppose  you  don't  object  to  that?  Has  his  poor  mother's 
money,  and  his  father's ;  must  be  well  to  do.  A  vulgar  fellow, 
but  a  clever  fellow,  and  a  determined  fellow,  the  doctor — and  a 
fellow  who,  I  suspect,  is  capable  of  anything.  Should  n't  wonder 
at  that  fellow  marrying  some  rich  dowager.  Those  doctors  get 
an  immense  influence  over  women  ;  and  unless  lam  mistaken  in 
my  man,  Maria,  your  poor  sister  got  hold  of  a — " 

"  Uncle !"  cries  Mrs.  Twysden,  pointing  to  her  daughters, 
"  before  these — " 

"  Before  these  innocent  lambs  !  Hem !  Well,  I  think  Firmin 
is  of  the  wolf  sort ;"  and  the  old  noble  laughed,  and  showed  his 
own  fierce  fangs  as  he  spoke. 

"I  grieve  to  say,  my  lord,  I  agree  with  you,"  remarks  Mr. 
Twysden.  "I  don't  think  -Firmin  a  man  of  high  principle.  A 
clever  man  ?  Yes.  An  accomplished  man  ?  Yes.  A  good 
physician  ?  Yes.  A  prosperous  man  ?  Yes.  But  what 's  a 
man  without  principle  T* 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  a  parson,  Twysden." 

"  Others  have  said  so,  my  lord.     My  poor  mother  often  re- 

f retted  that  I  didn't  choose  the  Church.  When  I  was  at  Cam- 
ridge  Iused  to  speak  constantly  at  the  Union.  I  practised.  I 
do  not  disguise  from  you  that  my  aim  was  public  life.  I  am  free 
to  confess  I  think  the  House  of  Commons  would  have  been  my 
sphere;  and,  had  my  means  permitted,  should  certainly  have 
come  forward." 

Lord  Ringwood  smiled,  and  winked  to  his  niece — 

"  He  means,  my  dear,  that  he  would  like  to  wag  his  jaws  at  my 
expense,  and  that  I  should  put  him  in  for  Whipham." 

"  There  are,  I  think,  worse  members  of  Parliament,"  remark- 
ed Mr.  Twysden. 

"If  there  was  a  box  of  'em  like  you,  what  a  cage  it  would 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  87 

be!"  roared  my  lord.  "By  George,  I'm  sick  of  jaw*  And  I 
would  like  to  see  a  king  of  spirit  in  this  country,  who  would 
shut  up  the  talking  shops,  and  gag  the  whole  chattering  crew  I" 

"  I  am  a  partisan  of  order— but  a  lover  of  freedom,"  contin- 
ues Twysden..   "  I  hold  that  the  balance  of  our  constitution—" 

I  think  my  lord  would  have  indulged  in  a  few  of  those  oaths 
with  which  his  old-fashioned  conversation  was  liberally  garnish- 
ed ;  but  the  servant,  entering  at  this  moment,  announces  Mr. 
Philip  Firmin  ;  and  ever  so  faint  a  blush  flutters  up  in  Agnes' 
cheek,  who  feels  that  the  old  lord's  eye  is  upon  her. 

"  So,  sir,  I  saw  you  at  the  opera  last  night,"  says  Lord  Rin*r- 
wpod. 

"I  saw  you,  too,"  says  downright  Phil. 

The  women  looked  terrified  and  Twysden  scared.  The 
Twysdens  had  Lord  Ringwood's  box  sometimes.  But  there 
were  boxes  in  which  the  old  man  sate,  and  in  which  they  never 
could  see  him. 

"  Why  don't  you  look  at  the  stage,  sir,  when  you  go  to  the 
opera;  and  not  at  me  ?  When  you  go  to  church  you  ought  to 
look  at  the  parson,  ought  n't  you  ?"  growled  the  old  man.  ki  I  'm 
about  as  good  to  look  at  as  the  fellow  who  dances  first  in  the 
ballet — and  very  nearly  as  old.  But  if  I  were  you,  I  should 
think  looking  at  the  Ellsler  better  fun." 

And  now  you  may  fancy  of  what  old,  old  times  we  are  writ- 
ing-—times  in  which  those  horrible  old  male  dancers  yet  existed 
—hideous  old  creatures,  with  low  dresses  and  short  sleeves,  and 
wreaths  of  flowers,  or  hats  and  feathers  round  their  absurd  old 
wigs — who  skipped  at  the  head  of  the  ballet.  Let  us  be  thank- 
ful that  those  old  apes  have  almost  vanished  off  the  stage,  and 
left  it  in  possession  of  the  beauteous  bounders  of  the  other  sex. 
Ah,  my  dear  young  friends,  time  will  be  when  these  too  will 
cease  to  appear  more  than  mortally  beautiful  1  To  Philip,  at 
his  age,  they  yet  looked  as  lovely  as  houris..  At  this  time  the 
simple  young  fellow,  surveying  the  ballet  from  his  stall  at  the 
opera,  mistook  carmine  for  blushes,  pearl-powder  for  native 
snows,  and  cotton-wool  for  natural  symmetry ;  and  I  dare  say 
when  he  went  into  the  world  was  not  more  clear-sighted  about 
its  rouged  innocence,  its  padded  pretensions,  and  its  painted 
candor. 

Old  Lord  Ring  wood  had  a  humorous  pleasure  in  petting  and 
coaxing  Philip  Firmin  before  Philip's  relatives  of  Beaunash 
street.  Even  the  girls  felt  a  little  plaintive  envy  at  the  partiali- 
ty which  uncle  Ringwood  exhibited  for  Phil;  but  the  elder 
Twysdens  and  Ringwood  Twysden,  their  son,  writhed  with  agony 
at  the  preference  which  the  old  man  sometimes  showed  for  the 
doctor's  boy.  Phil  was  much  taller,  much  handsomer,  much 
stronger,  much  better-tempered,  and  much  richer  than  young 
Twysden.     He  would  be  the  sole  inheritor  of  his  father's  fortune, 


58  THE  ADVENTURES  OV  PHILIP 

and  had  his  mother's  thirty  thousand  pounds.  Even  when  they 
told  him  his  father  would  marry  again  Phil  laughed,  and  did  not 
seem  to  care — "  I  wish  him  joy  of  his  new  wife,"  was  all  he 
could  be  got  to  say ;  "when  he  gets  one,  I  suppose  I  shall  go  into 
chambers.  Old  Parr  street  is  not  as  gay  as  Pall  Mall."  I  am 
not  angry  with  Mrs.  Twysden  for  having  a  little  jealousy  of  her 
nephew.  Her  boy  and  girls  were  the  fruit  of  a  dutiful  marriage  ; 
and  Phil  was  the  son  of  a  disobedient  child.  Her  children  were 
always  on  their  best  behavior  before  their  great-uncle  ;  and  Phil 
cared  for  him  no  more  than  for  any  other  man  ;  and  he  liked  Phil 
the  best.  Her  boy  was  as  humble  and  eager  to  please  as  any  of 
his  lordship's  humblest  henchmen  ;  and  Lord  Ringwood  snapped 
at  him,  browbeat  him,  and  trampled  on  the  poor  darling's  ten- 
derest  feelings,  and  treated  him  scarcely  better  than  a  lackey. 
As  for  poor  Mr.  Twysden,  my  lord  not  only  yawned  unreserved- 
ly in  his  face — that  could  not  be  helped ;  poor  Talbot's  talk  set 
many  of  his  acquaintance  asleep — but  laughed  at  him,  inter- 
rupted him,  and  told  him  to  hold  his  tongue.  On  this  day,  as 
the  family  sat  together,  at  the  pleasant  hour — the  before-dinner 
hour — the  fireside  and  tea-table  hour — Lord  Rinjjwood  said  to 
Phil: 

"  Dine  with  me  to-day,  sir  ?" 

"  Why  does  he  not  ask  me,  with  my  powers  of  conversation  ?" 
thought  old  Twysden  to  himself. 

"  Hang  him,  he  always  asks  that  beggar !"  writhed  young 
Twysden,  in  his  corner. 

"  Very  sorry,  sir,  can't  come.  Have  asked  some  fellows  to  dine 
at  the  Blue  Posts,"  says  Phil. 

"  Confound  you,  sir,  why  don't  you  put  'emoff?"  cries  the  old 
lord.     "  You  'd  put  'em  off,  Twysden,  would  n't  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir !"  the  heart  of  father  and  son  both  beat. 

"  You  know  you  would ;  and  you  quarrel  with  this  boy  for  not 
throwing  his  friends  over.  Good-night,  Firmin,  since  you  won't 
come." 

And  with  this  my  lord  was  gone. 

The  two  gentlemen  of  the  house  glumly  looked  from  the  win- 
dow, and  saw  my  lord's  brougham  drive  swiftly  away  in  the  rain. 

"  I  hate  your  dining  at  those  horrid  taverns,"  whispered  a  young 
lady  to  Philip. 

"  It  is  better  fun  than  dining  at  home,"  Philip  remarks. 

"  You  smoke  and  drink  too  much.  You  come  home  late,  and 
you  don't  live  in  a  proper  monde,  sir !"  continues  the  young  lady. 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing.  You  must  dine  with  those  horrible  men,"  cries 
Agnes;  "else  you  might  have  gone  to  Lady  Pendleton's  to- 
night." 

"I  can  throw  over  the  men  easily  enough,  if  you  wish,"  an- 
swered the  young  man. 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  39 

"  I  ?  I  have  no  wish  of  the  sort.  Have  you  not  already  refused 
uncle  Ringwood  ?" 

"  You  are  not  Lord  Ringwood,"  says  Phil,  with  a  tremor  in  his 
voice.     "  I  don't  know  there  is  much  I  would  refuse  you." 

"  You  silly  boy !  What  do  I  ever  ask  you  to  do  that  you 
ought  to  refuse  ?  I  want  you  to  live  in  our  world,  and  not  with 
your  dreadful  wild  Oxford  and  Temple  bachelors.  I  don't  want 
you  to  smoke.  I  want  you  to  go  into  the  world  of  which  you 
have  the  entree — and  you  refuse  your  uncle  on  account  of  some 
horrid  engagement  at  a  taiern  !" 

"  Shall  I  stop  here?  Aunt,  will  you  give  me  some  dinner— 
here  ?"  asks  the  young  man. 

"  We  have  dined ;  my  husband  and  son  dine  out,"  said  gentle 
Mrs.  Twysden. 

There  was  cold  mutton  and  tea  for  the  ladies  ;  and  Mrs.  Twys- 
den did  not  like  to  seat  her  nephew,  who  was  accustomed  to  good 
fare  and  high  living,  to  that  meagre  meal. 

u  You  see  I  must  console  myself  at  the  tavern,"  Philip  said. 
"  We  shall  have  a  pleasant  party  there." 

"  And  pray  who  makes  it  ?"  asks  the  lady. 

"  There  is  Ridley  the  painter." 

"My  dear  Philip!  Do  you  know  that  his  father  was  actu- 
ally—" 

"In  the  service  of  Lord  Todmorden?  He  often  tells  us  so. 
He  is  a  queer  character,  the  old  man." 

"  Mr.  Ridley  is  a  man  of  genius,  certainly.  His  pictures  are 
delicious,  and  he  goes  everywhere — but — but  you  provoke  me, 
Philip,  by  your  carelessness ;  indeed  you  do.  Why  should  you 
be  dining  with  the  sons  of  footmen,  when  the  first  houses  in  the 
country  might  be  open  to  you  ?  You  pain  me,  you  foolish  boy." 

"  For  dining  in  company  of  a  man  of  genius  ?  Come,  Agnes  !" 
And  the  young  man's  brow  grew  dark.  "Besides,"  he  added, 
with  a  tone  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice,  which  Miss  Agnes  did  not  like 
at  all1-"  besides,  my  dear,  you  know  he  dines  at  Lord  Pendle- 
ton's." 

"  What  is  that  you  are  talking  of  Lady  Pendleton,  children  ?" 
asked  watchful  mamma  from  her  corner. 

"  Ridley  dines  there.  He  is  going  to  dine  with  me  at  a  tavern 
to-day.  And  Lord  Halden  is  coming — and  Mr.  Winton  is  com- 
ing— having  heard  of  the  famous  beefsteaks." 

"  Winton  !  Lord  Halden  !  Beefsteaks  !  Where  ?  By  George  ! 
I  have  a  mind  to  go,  too  !  Where  do  you  fellows  dine  ?  at*  caba- 
ret t  Hang  me,  I'll  be  one,"  shrieked  little  Twysden,  to  the  terror 
of  Philip,  who  knew  his  uncle's  awful  powers  of  conversation. 
But  Twysden  remembered  himself  in  good  time,  and  to  the  in- 
tense relief  of  young  Finnin.  "  Hang  me.  I  forgot !  Your  aunt 
and  I  dine  with  the  Bladeses*.  Stupid  old  fellow,  the  admiral,  and 
bad  wine — which  is  unpardonable ;  but  we  must  go— on  n'a  que 


40  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

saparole^ey^  Tell  Winton  that  I  bad  meditated  joining  him,  and 
that  1  have  still  some  of  that  Chateau  Margaux  he  liked.  Hal-. 
den's  father  I  know  well.  Tell  him  so.  Bring  him  here.  Maria. 
send  a  Thursday  card  to  Lord  Halden  !  You  must  bring  him  here 
to  dinner,  Philip.  That  's  the  best  way  to  make  acquaintance,  my 
boy  L"  And  the  little,  man  swaggers  off,  waving  a  bed-eandle,  as 
if  he  was  going  to  quaff  a  bumper  of  sparkling  spermaceti. 

The  mention  of  such  great  personages  as  Lorcf  Halden  and  Mr. 
Winton  silenced  the  reproofs  of  the  pensive  Agnes. 

"You  won't  care  for  our  quiet  fireside  while  you  live  with 
those  fine  people,  Philip,"  she  sighed?  There  was  no  talk  now  of 
his  throwing  himself  away  on  bad  company. 

So  Philip  did  not  dine  with  his  relatives ;  but  Talbot  Twysden 
took  good  care  to  let  Lord  Ringwood  know  how  young  Firmin 
had  offered  to  dine  with  his  aunt  that  day  after  refusing  his  lord- 
ship. And  everything  to  Phil's  discredit,  and  every  act  of  ex- 
travagance or  wildness  which  the  young  man  committed,  did 
Phil's  uncle,  and  Phil's  cousin,  Ringwood  Twysden,  convey 
to  the  old  nobleman.  Had  not  these  been  the  informers,  Lord 
Ringwood  would  have  been  angry  ;  for  he  exacted  obedience 
and  servility  from  all  round  about  him.  But  it  was  pleasanter 
to  vex  the  Twysdens  than  to  scold  and  browbeat  Philip,  and  so 
his  lordship  choose  to  laugh  and  be  amused  at  Phil's  insubordi- 
nation. He  saw,  too,  other  things  of  which  he  did  not  speak. 
He  was  a  wily  old  man,  who  could  afford  to  be  blind  upon  occa- 
sion. 

"What  do  you  judge  from  the  fact  that  Philip  was  ready  to 
make  or  break  engagements  at  a  young  lady's  instigation  ?  When 
you  were  twenty  years  old,  had  no  young  ladies  an  influence  over 
you  ?  Were  they  not  commonly  older  than  yourself?  Did  your 
youthful  passion  lead  to  anything,  and  are  you  very  sorry  now 
that  it  did  not  ?  Suppose  you  had  had  your  soul's  wish  and  married 
her,  of  what  age  would  she  be  now  ?  And  now  when  you  go  into 
the  world  and  see  her,  do  you  on  your  conscience  very  much  re- 
gret that  the  little  affair  came  to  an  end  ?  Is  it  that  (lean,  or  fat, 
or  stumpy,  or  tall)  woman  with  all  those  children  whom  you  once 
chose  to  break  your  heart  about ;  and  do  you  still  envy  Jones? 
Philip  was  in  love  with  his  eousin,  no  doubt,  but  at  the  university 
bad  he  not  been  previously  in  love  with  the  Tomkinsian  profes- 
sors daughter,  Miss  Budd ;  and  had  be  not  already  written  verses 
to  Miss  Flower,  his  neighbor's  daughter  in  Old  Parr  street? 
And  don't  young  men  always  begin  by  falling  in  love  with  ladies 
older  than  themselves  V  Agnes  certainly  was  Philip's  senior,  as 
her  sister  constantly  took  care  to  inform  him. 

And  Agnes  might  have  told  stories  about  Blanche,  if  she  chose 
— as  you  may  about  me,  and  I  about  you.  Not  quite  true  stories, 
but  stories  with  enough  alloy  of  lies*  to  make  them  serviceable 
coin  ;  stories  such  as  we  hear  daily  in  the  world ;  stories  such  as 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  41 

we  read  in  the  most  learned  and  conscientious  history-books, 
•which  are  told  by  the  most  respectable  persons,  and  perfectly  au- 
thentic until  contradicted.  It  is  only  our  histories  that  can't  be 
contradicted  (unless,  to  be  sure,  novelists  contradict  themselves, 
as  sometimes  they  will).  What  we  say  about  people's  virtues, 
failings,  characters,  you  may  be  sure  is  all  true.  And  I  defy  any 
man  to  assert  that  my  opinion  of  the  Twysden  family  is  malicious, 
or  unkind,  or  unfounded  in  any  particular.  Agnes  wrote  verses, 
and  set  her  own  and  other  writers'  poems  to  music.  Blanche 
was  scientific,  and  attended  the  Albemarle  street  lectures  sedu- 
lously. They  are  both  clever  women  as  times  go  ;  well-educated 
and  accomplished,  and  very  well  mannered  when  they  choose  to 
be  pleasant.  If  you  were  a  bachelor,  say,  with  a  good  fortune, 
or  a  widower  who  wanted  consolation,  or  a  lady  giving  very  good 
parties  and  belonging  to  the  monde,  you  would  find  them  agree- 
able people.  If  you  were  a  little  Treasury  clerk,  or  a  young  bar- 
rister with  no  practice,  or  a  lady,  old  or  young,  not  quite  of  the 
monde,  your  opinion  of  them  would  not  be  so  favorable.  I  have 
seen  them  cut,  and  scorn,  and  avoid,  and  caress,  and  kneel  down 
and  worship  the  same  person.  When  Mrs.  Lovel  first  gave  par- 
ties, don't  I  remember  the  shocked  countenances  of  the  Twysden 
family  ?  Were  ever  shoulders  colder  than  yours,  dear  girls  ?  Now 
they  love  her  ;  they  fondle  her  step-children  ;  they  praise  her  to 
her  face  and  behind  her  handsome  back ;  they  take  her  hand  in 
public  ;  they  call  her  by  her  Christian  name ;  they  fall  into  ec- 
stacies  over  her  toilets,  and  would  fetch  coals  for  her  dressing-room 
fire  if  she  but  gave  them  the  word.  She  is  not  changed.  She  is 
the  same  lady  who  once  was  a  governess,  and  no  colder  and  no 
warmer  since  then.  But,  you  see,  her  prosperity  has  brought 
virtues  into  evidence,  which  people  did  not  perceive  when  she 
was  poor.  Could  people  see  Cinderella's  beauty  when  she  was 
in  rags  by  the  fire,  or  until  she  stepped  out  of  her  fairy  coach  in  her 
diamonds  ?  IJow  are  you  to  recognize  a  diamond  in  a  dust-hole  V 
Only  very  clever  eyes  can  do  that.  Whereas  a  lady,  in  a  fairy 
coach  and  eight,  naturally  creates  a  sensation  ;  and  enraptured 
princes  come  and  beg  to  have  the  honor  of  dancing  with  her. 

In  the  character  of  infallible  historian,  then,  I  declare  that 
if  Miss  Twysden  at  three-and-twenty  feels  ever  so  much  or  little 
attachment  for'  her  cousin  who  is  not  yet  of  age,  there  is  no  rea- 
son to  be  angry  with  her.  A  brave,  handsome,  blundering,  down- 
right young  fellow,  with  broad  shoulders,  high  spirits,  and  quite 
fresh  blushes  on  his  face,  with  very  good  talents  ((hough  he  has 
been  woefully  idle,  and  requested  to  absent  himself  temporarily 
from  his  university),  the  possessor  of  a  competent  fortune  and  the 
heir  of  another,  may  naturally  make  some  impression  on  a  lady's 
heart  with  whom  kinsmanship  and  circumstance  bring  him  into 
daily  communion. 

When  had  any  sound  so  hearty  as  Phil's  laugh  been  heard  in 


42  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

Beaunash  street  ?  His  jolly  frankness  touched  his  aunt,  a 
clever  woman.  She  would  smile  and  say,  "My  Hear  Philip,  it 
is  not  only  what  you  say,  but  what  you  are  going  to  say  next, 
which  keeps  me  in  such  a  perpetual  tremor."  There  may  have 
been  a  time  once  when  she  was  frank  and  cordial  herself:  ever 
so  long  ago,  when  she  and  her  sister  were  two  blooming  girls, 
lovingly  clinging  together,  and  just  stepping  forth  into  the 
world.  But  if  you  succeed  in  keeping  a  fine  house  on  a  small 
income  ;  in  showing  a  cheerful  face  to  the  world  though  oppress- 
ed with  ever  so  much  care;  in  bearing  with  dutiful  reverence  an 
intolerable  old  bore  of  a  husband  (and  I  vow  it  is  this  quality  in 
Mrs.  Twysden  for  which  I  most  admire  her)  ;  in  submitting  to 
defeats  patiently ;  to  humiliations  with  smiles,  so  as  to  hold  your 
own  in  your  darling  monde — you  may  succeed,  but  you  must 
give  up  being  frank  and  cordial.  The  marriage  of  her  sister  to 
the  doctor  gave  Maria  Ringwood  a  great  panic,  for  Lord  Ring- 
wood  was  furious  when  the  news  came.  Then,  perhaps,  she 
sacrificed  a  little  private  passion  of  her  own ;  then  she  set  her 
cap  at  a  noble  young  neighbor  of  my  lord's  who  jilted  her ;  then 
she  took  up  with  Talbot  Twysden,  Esquire,  of  the  Powder  and 
Pomatum  office,  and  made  a  very  faithful  wife  to  him,  and  was  a 
very  careful  mother  to  his  children.  But  as  fou,  frankness  and 
cordiality,  my  good  friend,  accept  from  a  lady  what  she  can  give 
you — good  manners,  pleasant  talk,  and  decent  attention.  If  you 
go  to  her  breakfast-table,  don't  ask  for  a  roc's  egg,  but  eat  that 
moderately  fresh  hen's  egg  which  John  brings  you.  When  Mrs. 
Twysden  is  in  her  open  carriage  in  the  Park,  how  prosperous, 
handsome,  and  jolly  she  looks — the  girls  how  smiling  and  young 
(that  is,  you  know,  considering  all  things)  ;  the  horses  look  fat, 
the  coachman  and  footman  wealthy  and  sleek  ;  they  exchange 
bows  with  the  tenants  of  other  carriages — well  known  aristo- 
crats. Jones  and  Brown,  leaning  over  the  railings,  and  seeing 
the  Twysden  equipage  pass,  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  it 
contains  people  of  the  highest  wealth  and  fashion.  "  I  say, 
Jones,  my  boy,  what  noble  family  has  the  motto,  Wei  done  Twys 
don  f  and  what  clipping  girls  there  were  in  that  barouche !" 
B.  remarks  to  J.,  "  and  what  a  handsome  young  swell  that  is 
riding  the  bay  mare,  and  leaning  over  and  talking  to  the  yellow- 
haired  girl !"  And  it  is  evident  to  one  of  those  gentlemen, 
at  least,  that  he  has  been  looking  at  your  regular  first-rate  tip  - 
top  people. 

As  for  Phil  Firmin  on  his  bay  mare  with  his  geranium  in  his 
button-hole,  there  is  no  doubt  that  Philippus  looks  as  handsome, 
and  as  rich,  and  as  brave  as  any  lord.  And  I  think  Jones  must 
have  felt  a  little  pang  when  his  friend  told  him,  "  That  a  lord  ! 
Bless  you,  it 's  only  a  swell  doctor's  son."  But  while  J.  and  B. 
fancy  all  the  little  party  very  happy,  they  do  not  hear  Phil  whis- 
per to  his  cousin,  "I  hope  you  liked  your  -partner  last  night?" 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  43 

and  they  do  not  see  how  anxious  Mrs.  Twysden  is  under  her 
smiles,  how  she  perceives  Colonel  Shafto's  cab  coming  up  (the 
dancer  in  question),  and  how  she  would  rather  have  Phil  any 
where  than  by  that  particular  wheel  of  her  carriage  ;  how  Lady 
Braglands  has  just  passed  them  by  without  noticing  them — Lady 
Braglands,  who  has  a  ball,  and  is  determined  not  to  ask  that 
woman  and  her  two  endless  girls ;  and  how,  though  Lady  Brag- 
lands won't  see  Mrs.  Twysden  in  her  great  staring  equipage,  and 
the  three  faces  which  have  been  beaming  smiles  at  her,  she  in- 
stantly perceives  Lady  Lovel,  who  is  passing  ensconced  in  her 
little  brougham,  and  kisses  her  ringers  twenty  times  over.  Plow 
should  poor  J.  and  B.,  who  are  not,  vous  comprenez,  du  monde, 
understand  these  mysteries? 

"  That 's  young  Firrain,  is  it,  that  handsome  young  fellow  ?" 
says  Brown  to  Jones. 

''Doctor  married  the.  Earl  of  Ring  wood's  niece — ran  away 
with  her,  you  know." 

"  Good  practice  ?" 

"Capital.  First-rate.  All  the  tip-top  people.  Great  ladies' 
doctor.  Can't  do  without  him.  Makes  a  fortune,  besides  what 
he  had  with  his  wife." 

"  We*va«een  his  name— the  old  man's — on  some  very  queer 
paper,"  says  B.  with  a  wink  to  J.  By  which  I  conclude  they  are 
city  gentlemen.  And  they  look  very  hard  at  friend  Philip,  as 
lie  comes  to  talk  and  shake  hands  with  some  pedestrians  who  are 
gazing  over  the  railings  at  the  busy  and  pleasant  Park  scene. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   NOBLE    KINSMAN. 

Having  had  occasion  to  mention  a  noble  earl  once  or  twice,  I 
am  sure  no  polite  reader  will  consent  that  his  lordship  should 
push  through  this  history  along  with  the  crowd  of  commoner 
characters,  and  without  a  special  word  regarding  himself.  If 
you  are  in  the  least  familiar  with  Burke  or  Debrett,  you  know 
that  the  ancient  family  of  Ringwood  has  long  been  famous  for  its 
great  possessions  and  its  loyalty  to  the  British  crown. 

In  the  troubles  which  unhappily  agitated  this  kingdom  after 
the  deposition  of  the  late  reigning  house,  the  Ringwoods  were 
implicated  with  many  other  families;  but  on  the  accession  of  his 
Majesty  George  III  these  differences  happily  ended,  nor  had  the 
monarch  any  subject  more  loyal  and  devoted  than  Sir  John 
Ringwood,  Baronet,  of  Wingate   and  Whipham  Market.     Sir 


44  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

John's  influence  sent  three  members  to  Parliament;  and  during 
the  dangerous  and  vexatious  period  of  the  American  war  this 
influence  was  exerted  so  cordially  and  consistently  in  the  cause 
of  order  and  the  crown  that  his  Majesty  thought  fit  to  advance 
Sir  John  to  the  dignity  of  Baron  Ringwood.  Sir  John's  brother, 
Sir  Francis  Ringwood,  of  Appleshaw,  who  followed  the  profes- 
sion of  the  law,  also  was  promoted  to  be  a  Baron  of  his  Majesty's 
Court  of  Exchequer.  The  'first  baron,  dying  a.  d.  1786,  was 
succeeded  by  the  eldest  of  his  two  sons — John,  second  Baron 
and  first  Earl  of  Ringwood.  His  lordship's  brother,  the  Honor- 
able Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  died  gloriously,  at  the  head  of  his 
regiment  and  in  the  defence  of  his  country,  in  the  Battle  of  Bu- 
sacp,  1810,  leaving  two  daughters,  Louisa  and  Maria,  who 
henceforth  lived  with  the  earl  their  uncle. 

The  Earl  of  Ringwood  had  but  one  son;  Charles  Viscount 
Cinqbars,  who,  unhappily,  died  of  a  decline,  in  his  twenty-second 
year.  And  thus  the  descendants  of  Sir  Francis  Ringwood 
became  heirs  to  the  earl's  great  estates  of  Wingate  and  Whip- 
ham  Market,  though  not  of  the  peerages  which  had  been  con- 
ferred on  the  earl  and  his  father. 

Lord  RingAvood  had,  living  with  him,  two  nieces,  daughters  of 
his  late  brother,  Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  who  fell  in  the  Penin- 
sular war.  Of  these  ladies,  the  youngest,  Louisa,  was  his  lord- 
ship's favorite ;  and  though  both  the  ladies  had  considerable 
fortunes  of  their  own,  it  was  supposed  their  uncle  would  further 
provide  for  them,  especially  as  he  was  on  no  very  good  terms  with 
his  cousin,  Sir  John  of  the  Shaw,  who  took  the  Whig  side  in 
politics,  while  his  lordship  was  a  chief  of  the  Tory  party. 

Of  these  two  nieces,  the  eldest,  Maria,  never  any  great  favor- 
ite with  her  uncle,  married,  1824,  Talbot  Twysden,  Esq.,  a  Com- 
missioner of  Powder  and  Pomatum  Tax;  but  the  youngest, 
Louisa,  incurred  my  lord's  most  serious  anger  by  eloping  with 
George  Brand  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  a  young  gentleman  of  Cam- 
bridge University,  who  had  been  with  Lord  Cinqbars  when  he 
died  at  Naples,  and  had  brought  home  his  body  to  Wingate 
Castle. 

The  quarrel  with  the  youngest  niece,  and  the  indifference 
with  which  he  generally  regarded  the  elder  (whom  his  lordship 
was  in  the  habit  of  calling  an  old  schemer),  occasioned  at  first  a 
little  rapprochement  between  Lord  Ringwood  and  his  heir,  Sir 
John  of  Appleshaw  ;  but  both  gentlemen  were  very  firm,  not  to 
say  obstinate,  in  their  natures.  They  had  a  quarrel  with  respect 
to  the  cutting  off  of  a  small  entailed  property,  of  which  the  earl 
wished  to  dispose  ;  and  they  parted  with  much  rancor  and  bad 
language  on  his  lordship's  part,  who  was  an  especially  free- 
spoken  nobleman,  and  apt  to  call  a  spade  a  spade,  as  the  saying  is. 

After  this  difference,  and  to  spite  his  heir,  it  was  supposed 
that  the  Earl  of  Ringwood  would  marry.     He  was  a  little  more 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  45 

than  seventy  years  of  age,  and  had  once  been  of  a  very  robust 
constitution.  And  though  his  temper  was  violent  and  his  person 
not  at  all  agreeable  (for  even  in  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence's  picture 
his  countenance  is  very  ill-favored),  there  is  little  doubt  he  could 
have  found  a  wife  for  the  asking  among  the  young  beauties  of  his 
own  country,  or  the  fairest  of  May  Fair. 

But  he  was  a  cynical  nobleman,  and  perhaps  morbidly  con- 
scious of  his  own  ungainly  appearance.  "  Of  course  I  can  buy 
a  wife"  (his  lordship  would  say).  "  Do  you  suppose  people  won't 
sell  their  daughters  to  a  man  of  my  rank  and  means  ?  Now  look 
at  me,  my  good  sir,  and  say  whether  any  woman  alive  could 
fall  in  love  with  me  ?  I  have  been  married,  and  once  was 
enough.  I  hate  ugly  women,  and  your  virtuous  women,  who 
tremble  and  cry  in  private,  and  preach  at  a  man,  bore  me.  Sir 
John  Ringwood,  of  Appleshaw,  is  an  ass,  and  I  hate  him  ;  but  I 
don't  hate  him  enough  to  make  myself  miserable  for  the  rest  of 
my  days,  in  order  to  spite  him.  When  I  drop,  I  drop.  Do  you 
suppose  I  care  what  comes  after  me  V"  And  with  much  sardoni- 
cal  humor  this  old  lord  used  to  play  off  one  ^ood  dowager  after 
another  who  would  bring  her  girl  in  his  way.  He  would  send 
pearls  to  Emily,  diamonds  to  Fanny,  opera-boxes  to  lively  Kate, 
books  of  devotion  to  pious  Selinda,  and,  at  the  season's  end,  drive 
back  to  his  lonely  great  castle  in  jthe  west.  They  were  all  the 
same,  such  was  his  lordship's  opinion.  I  fear,  a  wicked  and  cor- 
rupt old  gentleman,  my  dears.  But  ah,  would  not  a  woman  sub- 
mit to  some  sacrifices  to  reclaim  that  unhappy  man  ;  to  lead  that 
gifted  but  lost  being  into  the  ways  of  right ;  to  convert  to  a 
belief  in  woman's  purity  that  erring  soul  ?  The$'  tried  him  with 
high-church  altar-cloths  for  his  chapel  at  Wingate;  they  .tried 
him  with  low-church  tracts ;  they  danced  before  him ;  they 
jumped  fences  on  horseback  ;  they  wore  bandeaux  or  ringlets, 
according  as  his  taste  dictated;  they  were  always  at  home  when 
he  called,  and  poor  you  and  I  were  gruffly  told  they  were  en- 
gaged ;  they  gushed  in  gratitude  over  his  bouquets  ;  they  sang 
for  him,  and  their  mothers,  coricealing  their  sobs,  murmured, 
"  What  an  angel  that  Cecilia  of  mine  is  !"  Every  variety  of  de- 
licious chaff  they  flung  to  that  old  bird.  But  he  was  uncaught 
at  the  end  of  the  season ;  he  winged  his  way  back  to  his  western 
hills.  And  if  you  dared  to  say  that  Mrs.  Netley  had  tried  to 
take  him,  or  Lady  Trapboys  had  set  a  snare  for  him,  you  know 
you  were  a  wicked,  gross  calumniator,  and  notorious  everywhere 
for  your  dull  and  vulgar  abuse  of  women. 

Now,  in  the  year  1880,  it  happened  that  this  great  nobleman 
was  seized  with  a  fit  of  the  gout,  whieh  had  very  nearly  con- 
signed his  estates  to  his  kinsman,  the  Baronet  of  Appleshaw.  A 
revolution  took  place  in  a  neighboring  state.  An  illustrious 
reigning  family  was  expelled  from  its  country,  and  projects  of 
reform  (which  would  pretty  certainly  end  in  revolution)  were 


46  THE   ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

rife  in  ours.  The  events  in  France,  and  those  pending  at  home, 
so  agitated  Lord  Ringwood's  mind  that  he  was  attacked  by  one 
of  the  severest  fits  of  gout  under  which  he  ever  suffered.  His 
shrieks,  as  he  was  brought  out  of  his  yacht  at  Ryde  to  a  house 
taken  for  him  in  the  town,  were  dreadful ;  his  language  to  all 
persons  iibout  him  was  frightfully  expressive,  as  Lady  Quamley 
and  her  daughter,  who  had  sailed  with  him  several  times,  can 
vouch.  An  ill  return  that  rude  old  man  made  for  all  their  kind- 
ness and  attention  to  him.  They  had  danced  on  board  his  yacht ; 
they  had  dined  on  board  his  yacht ;  they  had  been  out  sailing 
with  him,  and  cheerfully  braved  the  inconveniences  of  the  deep 
in  his  company.  And  when  they  ran  to  the  side  of  his  chair — as 
what  would  they  not  do  to  soothe  an  old  gentleman  in  illness 
and  distress? — when  they  ran  up  to  his  chair  as  it  was  wheeled 
along  the  pier,  he  called  mother  and  daughter  by  the  most  vulgar 
and  opprobrious  names,  and  roared  out  to  them  to  go  to  a  place 
which  I  certainly  shall  not  more  particularly  mention. 

Now  it  happened,  at  this  period,  that  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Firmin 
were  at  Ryde  with  their  little  boy,  then  some  three  years  of  age. 
The  doctor  was  already  talcing  his  place  as  one  of  the  most  fash- 
ionable physicians  then  in  London,  and  had  begun  to  be  cele- 
brated for  the  treatment  of  this  especial  malady.  (Firmin  on 
"  Gout  and  Rheumatism  "  was,  you  remember,  dedicated  to  his 
Majesty  George  IV.)  Lord  Ringwood's  valet  bethought  him  of 
calling  the  doctor  in,  and  mentioned  how  he  was  present  in  the 
town.  Now  Lord  Ringwood  was  a  nobleman  who  never  would 
allow  his  angry  feelings  to  stand  in  the  wa)r  of  his  present  com- 
forts or  ease.  He  instantly  desired  Mr.  Firrnin's  attendance, 
and  submitted  to  his  treatment ;  a  part  of  which  was  a  hauteur 
to  the  full  as  great  as  that  which  the  sick  man  exhibited.  Fir- 
min's appearance  was  so  tall  and  grand,  that  he  looked  vastly 
more  noble  than  £  great  many  noblemen.  Six  feet,  a  high  man- 
ner, a  polished  forehead,  a  flashing  eye,  a  snowy  shirt-frill,  a 
rolling  velvet  collar,  a  beautiful  hand  appearing  under  a  velvet 
cuff — all  these  advantages  he  possessed  and  used.  He  did  not 
make  the  slightest  allusion  to  by-gones,  but  treated  his  patient 
with  a  perfect  courtesy  and  an  impenetrable  self-possession. 

This  defiant  and  darkling  politeness  did  not  always  displease 
the  old  man.  He  was  so  accustomed  to  slavish  compliance  and 
eager  obedience  from  all  people  round  about  him,  that  he  some- 
times wearied  of  their  servility,  and  relished  a  little  independence. 
Was  it  from  calculation,  or  because  he  was  a  man  of  high  spirit, 
that  Firmin  determined  to  maintain  an  independent  course  with 
his  lordship  ?  From  the  first  day  of  their  meeting  he  never 
departed  from  it,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  meeting  with  only 
civil  behavior  from  his  noble  relative  and  patient,  who  was  noto- 
rious for  his  rudeness  and  brutality  to  almost  every  person  who 
came  in  his  way. 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  4  7 

From  hints  which  his  lordship  gave  in  conversation,  he  showed 
the  doctor  that  he  was  acquainted  with  some  particulars  of  the 
latter's  early  career.  It  hadlieen  wild  and  stormy.  Firmin  had 
incurred  debts ;  had  quarrelled  with  his  father :  had  left  the  uni- 
versity and  gone  abroad  ;  had  lived  in  a  wild  society,  which 
used  dice  and  cards  every  night,  and  pistols  sometimes  in  the 
morning  ;  and  had  shown  a  tearful  dexterity  in  the  use  of  the 
latter  instrument,  which  he  employed  against  the  person  of  a  fa- 
mous Italian  adventurer,  who  fell  under  his  hand  at  Naples. 
When  this  century  was  five-and-twenty  years  younger  the  crack 
.of  the  pistol-shot  might  still  occasionally  be  heard  in  the  suburbs 
of.  London  in  the  very  early  morning ;  and  the  dice-box  went 
round  Jn  many  a  haunt  of  pleasure.  The  knights  of  the  Four 
Kings  travelled  from  capital  to  capital,  and  engaged  each  other, 
or  made  prey  of  the  unwary.  Now,  the  times  are  changed.  The 
cards  are  coffined  in  their  boxes.  Only  sous-officiers,  brawling 
in  their  provincial  cafes  over  their  dominoes,  fight  duels.  "  Ah, 
dear  me  !"  I  heard  a  veteran  punter  sigh  the  other  day,  at  Bays', 
"  is  n't  it  a  melancholy  thing  to  think  that  if  I  wanted  to  amuse 
myself  with  a  fifty-pound  note,  I  don't  know  the  place  in  London 
where  I  could  go  and  lose*it  ?"  And  he  fondly  recounted  the 
names  of  twenty  places  where  he  could  have  cheerfully  staked 
and  lost  his  money  in  his  young  time. 

After  a  somewhat  prolonged  absence  abroad,  Mr.  Firmin  came 
back  to  this  country,  was  permitted  to  return  to  the  university, 
and  left  it  with  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Medicine.  We  have 
told  how  he  ran  away  with  Lord  Ringwood's  niece,  and  incurred 
the  anger  of  that  nobleman.  Beyond  abuse  and  anger  his  lord- 
ship was  powerless.  The  young  lady  was  free  to  marry  whom 
she  liked,  and  her  uncle  to  disown  or  receive  him ;  and  accord- 
ingly she  was,  as  we  have  seen,  disowned  by  his  lordship,  until 
he  found  it  convenient  to  forgive  her.  What  were  Lord  Ring- 
wood's  intentions  regarding  his  property,  what  were  his  accumu- 
lations, and  who  his  heirs  would  be,  no  one  knew.  Meanwhile, 
of  course,  there  were  those  who  felt  a  very  great  interest  on  the 
point.  Mrs.  Twysden  and  her  husband  and  children  were 
hungry  and  poor.  If  Uncle  Ringwood  had  money  to  leave,  it 
would  be  very  welcome  to  those  three  darlings,  whose  father  had 
not  a  great  income  like  Dr.  Firmin.  Philip  was  a  dear,  good, 
frank,  amiable,  wild  fellow,  and  they  all  loved  him.  But  he  had 
his  faults — that  could  not  be  concealed — and  so  poor  Phil's  faults 
were  pretty  constantly  canvassed  before  Uncle  Ringwood,  by 
dear  relatives  who  knew  them  only  too  well.  The  dear  relatives ! 
How  kind  they  are!  I  don't  think  Phil's  aunt  abused  him  to 
my  lord.  That  quiet  woman  calmly  and  gently  put  forward  the 
claims  of  her  own  darlings,  and  affectionately  dilated  on  the 
young  man's  present  prospei  ity  anc(  magnificent  future  pro?p( 
The  interest  of  thirty  thousand  pounds  now,  and  the  inheritance 


48  THE    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

of  his  father's  great  accumulations !  What  young  man  could 
want  for  more  r  Perhaps  he  had  too  much  already.  Perhaps 
he  was  too  rich  to  work.  The  sly  old  peer  acquiesced  in  his 
niece's  statements,  and  perfectly  understood  the  point  toward 
which  they  tended.  "  A  thousand  a  year!  What's  a  thousand 
a  year  ?"  giowled  the  old  lord.  u  Not  enough  to  make  a  gentle- 
man ;  more  than  enough  to  make  a  fellow  idle." 

"  Ah,  indeed,  it  was  but  a  small  income,"  sighed  Mrs.  Twysden. 
"  With  a  large  house,  a  good  establishment,  and  Mr.  Twysden's 
salary  from  his  office — it  was  but  a  pittance." 

"Pittance  !  Starvation,"  growls  my  lord,  with  his  usual  frank- 
ness. "  Don't  I  know  what  housekeeping  costs;  and  see  how  you 
screw  ?  Butlers  and  footmen,  carriages  and  job-horses,  rent  and 
dinners — though  yours,  Maria,  are  not  famous." 

"  Very  bad — I  know  they  are  very  bad,"  says  the  contrite  lady. 
"  I  wish  we  could  afford  any  better." 

"  Afibrd  any  better  ?  Of  course  you  can't.  You  are  the  crock- 
ery pots,  and  you  swim  down  stream  with  the  brass  pots.  I  saw 
Twysden  the  other  day  walking  down  St.  James'  street  with 
Rhodes — that  tall  fellow."  (Here  my  lord  laughed,  and  showed 
many  fangs,  the  exhibition  of  which  gave  a  peculiarly  fierce  air 
to  his  lordship  when  in  good-humor.)  "If  Twysden  walks  with 
a  big  fellow,  he  always  tries  to  keep  step  with  him.  You  know 
that."  Poor  Maria  naturally  knew  her  husband's  peculiarities ; 
but  she  did  not  say  that  she  had  no  need  to  be  reminded  of 
them. 

'.'  He  was  so  blown  he  could  hardly  speak,"  continued  Uncle 
Ringwood  ;  "  but  he  would  stretch  his  little  legs,  and  try  and  keep 
up.  He  has  a  little  body,  le  cher  mari,  but  a  good  pluck.  Those 
little  fellows  often  have.  I  've  seen  him  half  dead  out  shooting, 
and  plunging  over  the  plowed  fields  after  fellows  with  twice  his 
stride.  Why  don't  men  s'ink  in  the  world,  I  want  to  know  ?  In- 
stead of  a  fine  house,  and  a  parcel  of  idle  servants,  why  don"t 
you  have  a  maid  and  a  leg  of  mutton,  Maria  ?  You  go  half  crazy 
in  trying  to  make  both  ends  meet.  You  know  you  do.  It  keeps 
you  awake  of  nights  ;  /  know  that  very  well.  You  've  got  a 
house  fit  for  people  with  four  times  your  money.  I  lend  you  my 
cook  and  so  forth ;  but  I  can't  come  and  dine  with  you  unless  I 
send  the  wine  in.  Why  don't  you  have  a  pot  of  porter,  and  a 
joint,  or  some  tripe  V — tripe  's  a  famous  good  thing.  The  mis- 
eries which  people  entail  on  themselves  in  trying  to  live  beyond 
their  means  are  perfectly  ridiculous,  by  George  1  Look  at  that 
fellow  who  opened  the  door  to  me  ;  he  's  as  tall  as  one  of  my  own 
men.  Go  and  live  in  a  quiet  little  street  in  Belgravia  somewhere, 
and  have  a  neat  little  maid.  Nobody  will  think  a  penny  the 
worse  of  you — and  you  will  be  just  as  well  off  as  if  you  lived  here 
with  an  extra  couple  of  thousand  a  year.  The  advice  I  am  giv- 
ing you  is  worth  half  that,  every  shilling  of  it." 


PI.  1 


-J 


m*  r/roo  ft£p 


„„,„.  THI   HCHO^  Of  ».»c,  .«    '»»»"*  T"    '""'*■ 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  49 

"It  is  very  good  advice;  but  I  think,  sir,  I  should  prefer  the 
thousand  pounds,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Of  course  you  would.  That  is  the  consequence  of  your  false 
position.  One  of  the  good  points  about  that  doctor  is,  that  he  is 
as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  so  is  his  boy.  They  are  not  always 
hungering  after  money.  They  keep  their  independence  ;  though 
he  '11  have  his  own,  too,  the  fellow  will.  Why,  when  I  first  called 
hira  in,  I  thought,  as  he  was  a  relation,  he  'd  doctor  me  for  noth- 
ing ;  but  he  would  n't.  He  would  have  his  fee,  by  George  !  and 
would  n't  come  without  it.  Confounded  independent  fellow  Fir- 
min  is.     And  so  is  the  young  one." 

But  when  Twysden  and  his  son  (perhaps  inspirited  by  Mrr». 
Twysden)  tried  once  or  twice  to  be  independent  in  the  presence 
of  this  lion,  he  roared,  and  he  rushed  at  them,  and  he  rent  them, 
so  that  they  fled  from  hira  howling.  And  this  reminds  me  of  an 
old  story  I  have  heard — quite  an  old,  old  story,  such  as  kind  old 
fellows  at  clubs  love  to  remember — of  ray  lord,  when  he  was  only 
Lord  Cinqbars,  insulting  a  half-pay  lieutenant,  in  his  own  coun- 
try, who  horsewhipped  his  lordship  in  the  most  private  and  fero- 
cious manner.  It  was  said  Lord  Cinqbars  had  had  a  rencontre 
with  poachers ;  but  it  was  my  lord  who  was  poaching  and  the 
lieutenant  who  was  defending  his  own  dove-cot.  I  do  not  say 
that  this  was  a  model  nobleman  ;  but  that,  when  his  own  pas- 
sions or  interests  did  not  mislead  him,  he  was  a  nobleman  of  very 
considerable  acuteness,  humor,  and  good  sense  ;  and  could  give 
quite  good  advice  on  occasion.  If  men  would  kneel  down  and 
kiss  his  boots,  well  and  good.  There  was  the  blacking,  and  you 
were  welcome  to  .embrace  toe  and  heel.  But  those  who  would 
not  were  free  to  leave  the  operation  alone.  The  Pope  himself 
does  not  demand  the  ceremony  from  Protestants ;  and  if  they 
object  to  the  slipper,  no  one  thinks  of  forcing  it  into  their  mouths. 
Phil  and  his  father  probably  declined  to  tremble  before  the  old 
man,  not  because  they  knew  he  was  a  bully  who  might  be  put 
down,  but  because  they  were  men  of  spirit,  who  cared  not 
whether  a  man  was  buMy  or  no. 

I  have  told  you  I  like  Philip  Firmin,  though  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  the  young  fellow  had  many  faults,  and  that  his  career, 
especially  his  early  career,  was  by  no  means  exemplary.  Have 
I  ever  excused  his  conduct  to  his  father,  or  said  a  word  in  apology 
of  his  brief  and  inglorious  university  career  ?  I  acknowledge  his 
shortcomings  with  that  candor  which  my  friends  exhibit  in 
speaking  of  mine.  Who  does  not  see  a  friend's  weaknesses,  and 
is  so  blind  that  he  can  not  perceive  that  enormous  beam  in  his 
neighbor's  eye  ?  Only  a  woman  or  two,  from  time  to  time.  Ami 
even  they  are  undeceived  some  day.  A  man  of  the  world,  I 
write  about  my  friends  as  mundane  fellow-creatures.  Do  you 
suppose  there  are  many  angels  here  ?  I  say  again,  perhaps  a  wom- 
an or  two.  But  as  for  you  and  me,  my  good  sir,  are  there  any 
5 


50  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

signs  of  wings  sprouting  from  our  shoulder-blades  ?  Be  quiet. 
Don't  pursue  your  snarling,  cynical  remarks,  out  go  on  with 
your  story. 

As  you  go  through  life,  stumbling,  and  slipping,  and  stagger- 
ing to  your  feet  again,  ruefully  aware  of  your  own  wretched 
weakness,  and  praying,  with  a  contrite  heart  let  us  trust, 
that  you  may  not  be  led  into  temptation,  have  you  not 
often  looked  at  other  fellow-sinners,  and  speculated  with  an 
awful  interest  on  their  career  ?  Some  there  are  on  whom, 
quite  in  their  early  lives,  dark  Ahrimanes  has  seemed  to  lay  his 
dread  mark;  children,  yet  corrupt,  and  wicked  of  tongue  ;  ten- 
der of  age,  yet  cruel ;  who  should  be  truth-telling  and  generous 
yet  (they  were  at  their  mothers' bosoms  yesterday),  but  are  false, 
and  cold,  and  greedy  before  their  time.  Infants  almost,  they 
practice  the  art  and  selfishness  of  old  men.  Behind  their  can- 
did faces  are  wiles  and  wickedness,  and  a  hideous  precocity  of 
artifice.  I  can  recall  such,  and  in  the  vista  of  far-off,  unforgot- 
ten  boyhood,  can  see  marching  that  sad  little  procession  of  en- 
fans  perdus.  May  they  be  saved,  pray  Heaven  !  Then  there  is 
the  doubtful  class,  those  who  are  still  on  trial ;  those  who  fall 
and  rise  again  ;  those  who  are  often  worsted  in  life's  battle  ; 
beaten  down,  wounded,  imprisoned ;  but  escape  and  conquer 
sometimes.  And  then  there  is  the  happy  class  about  whom  there 
seems  no  doubt  at  all ;  the  spotless  and  white-robed  ones,  to 
whom  virtue  is  easy ;  in  whose  pure  bosoms  faith  nestles,  and 
cold  doubt  finds  no  entrance  ;  who  are  children,  and  good ; 
young  men,  and  good;  husbands  and  fathers,  and  yet  good. 
Why  could  the  captain  of  our  school  write  his  Greek  Iambics 
without  an  effort,  and  without  an  error  ?  Others  of  us  blistered 
the  page  with  unavailing  tears  and  blots,  and  might  toil  ever  so 
hard  and  come  in  lag  last  at  the  bottom  of  the  form.  Our  friend 
Philip  belongs  to  the  middle  class,  in  which  you  and  I  probably 
are,  my  dear  sir — not  yet,  I  hope,  irredeemably  consigned  to 
that  awful  third  class,  whereof  mention  has  been  made. 

But,  being  homo,  and  liable  to  err,  there  is  no  doubt  Mr.  Philip 
exercised  his  privilege,  and  there  was  even  no  little  fear  at  one 
time  that  he  should  overdraw  his  account.  He  went  from  school 
to  the  university,  and  there  distinguished  himself  certainly,  but 
in  a  way  in  which  very  few  parents  would  choose  that  their  sons 
should  excel.  That  he  should  hunt,  that  he  should  give  parties, 
that  he  should  pull  a  good  oar  in  one  of  the  best  boats  on  the 
river,  that  he  should  speak  at  the  Union — all  these  were  very 
well.  But  why  should  he  speak  such  awful  radicalism  and  re- 
publicanism— he  with  noble  blood  in  his  veins,  and  the  son  of  a 
parent  whose  interest  at  least  it  was  to  keep  well  with  people  of 
high  station  ? 

"  Why,  Pendennis,"  said  Dr.  Firmin  to  me  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  and  much  genuine  grief  exhibited  on  "his  handsome  pale 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  51 

face — "  why  should  it  be  said  that  Philip  Firmin — both  of  whose 
grandfathers  fought  nobly  for  their  king — should  be  forgetting 
the  principles  of  his  family,  and — and,  I  have  n't  words  to  tell 
you  how  deeply  he  disappoints  me.  Why,  I  actually  heard  of 
him  at  that  horrible  Union  advocating  the  death  of  Charles  the 
First !  I  was  wild  enough  myself  when  I  was  at  the  university, 
but  I  was  a  gentleman." 

"Boys,  sir,  are  boys,"  I  urged.  "  They  will  advocate  any 
thing  for  an  argument ;  and  Philip  would  have  taken  the  other 
side  quite  as  readily." 

"  Lord  Axminster  and  Lord  St.  Dennis  told  me  of  it  at  the 
club.  I  can  tell  you  it  has  made  a  most  painful  impression," 
cried  the  father.  "  That  my  son  should  be  a  radical  and  a  re- 
publican, is  a  cruel  thought  for  a  father;  and  I,  who  had  hoped 
for  Lord  Ringwood's  borough  for  him — who  had  hoped — who 
had  hoped  very  much  better  things  for  him  and  from  him*.  He 
is  not  a  comfort  to  me.  You  saw  how  he  treated  me  one  night? 
A  man  might  live  on  different  terms,  I  think,  with  his  only  son  !" 
And  with  a  breaking  voice,  a  pallid  cheek,  and  a  real  grief  at  his 
heart,  the  unhappy  physician  moved  away. 

How  had  the  doctor  bred  his  son,  that  the  young  man  should 
be  thus  unruly  ?  Was  the  revolt  the  boy's  fault,  or  the  father's? 
Dr.  Firmin's  horror  seemed  to  be  because  his  noble  friends  were 
horrified  by  Phil's  radical  doctrine.  At  that  time  of  my  life, 
being  young  and  very  green,  1  had  a  little  mischievous  pleasure 
in  infuriating  Squaretoes,  and  causing  him  to  pronounce  that  I 
was  "  a  dangerous  man."  Now,  I  am  ready  to  say  that  Nero 
was  a  monarch  with  many  elegant  accomplishments,  and  consid- 
erable natural  amiability  of  disposition.  I  praise  and  admire 
success  wherever  I  meet  it.  I  make  allowance  for  faults  and 
shortcomings,  especially  in  my  superiors  ;  and  feel  that,  did  we 
know  all,  we  should  judge  them  very  differently.  People  don't 
believe  me,  perhaps,  quite  so  much  as  formerly.  But  I  don't  of- 
fend ;  I  trust  1  don't  offend.  Have  I  said  anything  painful  ? 
Plague  on  my  blunders  !  I  recall  the  expression.  I  regret  it.  I 
contradict  it  flat. 

As  I  am  ready  to  find  excuses  for  everybody,  let  poor  Philip 
come  in  for  the  benefit  of  this  mild  amnesty  ;  and  if  he  vexed  his 
father,  as  he  certainly  did,  let  us  trust — let  us  be  thankfully  sure 
— he  was  not  so  black  as  the  old  gentleman  depicted  him.  Nay, 
if  I  have  painted  the-  Old  Gentleman  himself  as  rather  black, 
who  knows  but  that  this  was  an  error,  not  of  his  complexion,  but 
of  my  vision?  Phil  was  unruly  because  he  was  bold,  and  wild, 
and  young.  His  father  was  hurt,  naturally  hurt,  because  of  the 
boy's  extravagancies  and  follies.  They  will  come  together  again, 
as  father  and  son  should.  These  little  differences  of  temper  will 
be  smoothed  and  equalized  anon.  The  boy  has  led  a  wild  life. 
He  has  been  obliged  to  leave  college.      He  has  given  his  father 


52  THE    ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

hours  of  anxiety  and  nights  of  painful  watching.  But  stay, 
father,  what  of  you  ?  Have  you  shown  to  the  boy  the  practice  of 
confidence,  the  example  of  love  and  honor?  Did  you  accustom 
him  to  virtue,  and  teach  truth  to  the  child  at  your  knee  ?  "  Honor 
vour  father  and  mother."  Amen.  May  his  days  be  long  who 
fulfils  the  command  ;  but  implied,  though  unwritten  on  the  table, 
is  there  not  the  order,  "  Honor  your  son  and  daughter  ?"  Pray 
Heaven  that  we,  whose  days  are  already  not  few  in  the  land,  may 
keep  this  ordinance  too. 

What  had  made  Philip  wild,  extravagant,  and  insubordinate  ? 
Cured  of  that  illness  in  which  we  saw  him,  he  rose  up,  and  from 
school  went  his  way  to  the  university,  and  there  entered  on  a 
life  such  as  wild  young  men  will  lead.  From  that  day  of  illness 
his  manner  toward  his  father  changed,  and  regarding  the  change 
the  elder  Firmin  seemed  afraid  to  question  his  son.  He  used 
the  house  as  if  his  own,  came  and  absented  himself  at  will,  ruled 
the  servants,  and  was  spoiled  by  them ;  spent  the  income  which 
was  settled  on  his  mother  and  her  children,  and  gave  of  it  liber- 
ally to  poor  acquaintances.  To  the  remonstrances  of  old  friends 
he  replied  that  he  had  a  right  to  do  as  he  chose  with  his  own ; 
that  other  men  who  were  poor  might  work,  but  that  he  had 
enough  to  live  on  without  grinding  over  classics  and  mathematics. 
He  was  implicated  in  more  rows  than  one ;  his  tutors  saw  him 
not,  but  he  and  the  proctors  became  a  great  deal  too  well  ac- 
quainted. If  I  were  to  give  you  a  history  of  Mr.  Philip  Firmin 
at  the  university,  it  would  be  the  story  of  an  Idle  Apprentice, 
of  whom  his  pastors  and  masters  were  justified  in  prophesying 
evil.  He  was  seen  on  lawless  London  excursions,  when  his  father 
and  tutor  supposed  him  unwell  in  his  rooms  in  college.  He  made 
acquaintance  with  jolly  companions,  with  whom  his  father  grieved 
that  he  should  be  intimate.  He  cut  the  astonished  Uncle  Twys- 
den  in  London  street,  and  blandly  told  him  that  he  must  be 
mistaken — he  one  Frenchman,  he  no  speak  English.  He  stared 
the  master  of  his  own  college'out  of  countenance,  dashed  back 
to  college  with  a  Turpin-like  celerity,  and  was  in  rooms  with  a 
ready  proved  alibi  when  inquiries  were  made.  I  am  afraid  there 
is  no  doubt  that  Phil  screwed  up  his  tutor's  door ;  Mr.  Okes  dis- 
covered him  in  the  fact.  He  had  to  go  down,  the  young  prodi- 
gal. I  wish  I  could  say  he  was  repentant.  But  he  appeared 
before  his  father  with  the  utmost  nonchalance ;  said  that  he  was 
doing  no  good  at  the  university,  and  should  be  much  better  away, 
and  then  went  abroad  on  a  dashing  tour  to  France  and  Italy, 
whither  it  is  by  no  means  our  business  to  follow  him.  Something 
had  poisoned  the  generous  blood.  The  once  kindly,  honest  lad 
was  wild  and  reckless.  He  had  money  in  sufficiency,  his  own 
horses  and  equipage,  and  free  quarters  in  his  father's  house.  But 
father  and  son  scarce  met,  and  seldom  took  a  meal  together.  "  I 
know  his  haunts,  but  I  don't  know  his  friends,  Pendennis,"  the 


ON  HI8  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  53 

elder  man  said.  "  I  don't  think  they  are  vicious,  so  much  as  low. 
I  do  not  charge  him  with  vice,  mind  you  ;  but  with  idleness,  and 
a  fatal  love  of  low  company,  and  a  frantic,  suicidal  determina- 
tion to  fling  his  chances  *in  life  away.  Ah,  think  where  he  might 
be,  and  where  he  is !" 

Where  he  was  ?  Do  not  be  alarmed.  Philip  wa»-only  idling. 
Philip  might  have  been  much  more  industriously,  more  profita- 
bly, and  a  great  deal  more  wickedly  employed.  What  is  now 
called  Bohemia  had  no  name  in  Philip's  young  days,  though  many 
of  us  knew  the  country  very  well.  A  pleasant  land,  not  fenced 
with  drab  stucco,  like  Tyburnia  or  Belgravia ;  not  guarded  by  a 
huge  standing  army  of  footmen  ;  not  echoing  with  noble  chariots  ; 
not  replete  with  polite  chintz  drawing-rooms  and  neat  tea-tables  ; 
a  land  over  which  hangs  an  endless  fog,  occasioned  by  much  to- 
bacco ;  a  land  of  chambers,  billiard-rooms,  supper-rooms,  oysters ; 
a  land  of  song ;  a  land  where  soda-water  flows  freely  in  the  morn- 
ing; a  land  of  tin-dish  covers  from  taverns,  and  frothing  porter  ; 
a  land  of  lotos-eating  (with  lots  of  cayenne-pepper),  of  pulls  on 
the  river,  of  delicious  reading  of  novels,  magazines,  and  saun- 
terings  in  many  studios;  a  land  where  men  call  each  other  by 
their  Christian  names;  where  most  are  poor,  where  almost  ail 
,  are  young,  and  where  if  a  few  oldsters  do  enter,  it  is  because  they 
have  preserved  more  tenderly  and  carefully  than  other  folks  their 
youthful  spirits,  and  the  delightful  capacity  to  be  idle.  I  have 
lost  my  way  to  Bohemia  now,  but  it  is  certain  that  Prague  is  the 
most  picturesque  city  in  the  world. 

Having  long  lived  there,  and  indeed  only  lately  quitted  the 
Bohemian  land  at  the  time  whereof  I  am  writing,  I  could  not 
quite  participate  in  Dr.  Firmin's  indignation  at  his  son  persisting 
in  his  bad  courses  and  wild  associates.  When  Firmin  had  been 
wild  himself,  he  had  fought,  intrigued,  and  gambled  in  good  com- 
pany. Phil  chose  his  friends  among  a  banditti  never  heard  of 
in  fashionable  quarters.  Perhaps  he  liked  to  play  the  prince  in 
the  midst  of  these  associates,  and  was  not  averse  to  the  flattery 
which  a  full  purse  brought  him  among  men  most  of  whose  pockets 
had  a  meagre  lining.  He  had  not  emigrated  to  Bohemia,  and 
settled  there  altogether.  At  school  and  in  his  brief  university 
career  he  had  made  some  friends  who  lived  in  the  world,  and 
with  whom  he  was  still  familiar.  "  These  come  and  knock  at  my 
front  door,  my  father's  door,"  he  would  say,  with  one  of  his  old 
laughs ;  "  the  Bandits,  who  have  the  signal,  enter  only  by  the 
dissecting-room.  I  know  which  are  the  most  honest,  and  that  it 
is  not  always  the  poor  Freebooters  who  best  deserve  to  be 
hanged." 

Like  many  a  young  gentleman  who  has  no  intention  of  pur- 
suing legal  studies  seriously,  Philip  entered  at  an  inn  of  court, 
and  kept  his  terms  duly,  though  he  vowed  that  his  conscience 
would  not  allow  him  to  practice  (I  am  not  defending  the  opinions 


54  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

of  this  squeamish  moralist — only  Btating  them).  His  acquaintance 
here  lav  among  the  Temple  Bohemians.  He  had  part  of  a  set 
of  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings,  to  be  sure,  and  you  might 
read  on  a  door,  "  Mr.  Cassidy,  Mr.  P.  Firmin,  Mr.  Van  John;" 
but  were  these  gentlemen  likely  to  advance  Philip  in  life  ?  Cas- 
sidy was  a  newspaper  reporter,  and  young  Vanjohn  a  betting 
man  who  was  always  attending  races.  Dr.  Firmin  had  a  horror 
of  newspaper  men,  and  considered  ttfey  belonged  to  the  danger- 
ous classes,  and  treated  them  with  a  distant  affability. 

"  Look  at  the  governor,  Pen,"  Philip  would  say  to  the  present 
chronicler.  "He  always  watches  you  with  a  secret  suspicion, 
and  has  never  got  over  his  wonder  at  your  being  a  gentleman. 
I  like  him  when  he  does  the.  Lord  Chatham  business,  and  con- 
descends toward  you,  and  gives  you  his  hand  to  kiss.  He  con- 
siders he  is  your  better,  don't  you  see  ?  Oh,  he  is  a  paragon  of 
a  pere  noble^  the  governor  is!  and  I  ought  to  be  a  young  Sir 
Charles  (Jrandison."  And  the  young  scapegrace  would  imitate 
his  father's  smile,  and  the  doctor's  manner  of  laying  his  hand  to 
his  breast  and  putting  out  his  neat  right,  leg,  all  of  which  move- 
ments or  postures  were,  I  own,  rather  pompous  and  affected. 

Whatever  the  paternal  faults  were,  you  will  say  that  Philip 
■was  not  the  man  to  criticise  them;  nor  in  this  matter  shall  I  at- 
tempt to  defend  him.  My  wife  has  a  little  pensioner  whom  she 
found  wandering  in  the  street,  and  singing  a  little  artless  song. 
The  child  could  not  speak  yet — only  warble  its  little  song ;  and 
had  thus  strayed  away  from  home,  and  never  once  knew  of  her 
danger.  We  kept  her  for  a  while,  until  the  police  found  her 
parents.  Our  servants  bathed  her,  and  dressed  her,  and  sent  her 
home  in  such  neat  clothes  as  the  poor  little  wretch  had  never 
siM'ii  until  fortune  sent  her  in  the  way  of  those  good-natured 
folks.  She'  pays  them  frequent  visits.  When  she  goes  away 
from  us  she  is  always  neat  and  clean ;  when  she  comes  to  us  she 
is  in  rags  and  dirty.  A  wicked  little  slattern  !  And,  pray,  whose 
duty  is.it  10  keep  her  clean  V  and  has  not  the  parent  in  this  case 
forgotten  to  honor  her  daughter  ?  Suppose  there  1s  some  reason 
which  prevents  Philip  from  loving  his  father — that  the  doctor  has 
neglected  to  cleanse;  the  boy's  heart,  and  by  carelessness  and  in- 
difference has  sent  him  erring  into  the  world.  If  so,  woe  be  to 
that  doctor  !  If  I  take  my  little  son  to  the  tavern  to  dinner,  shall 
I  not  assuredly  pay  ?  If  I  suffer  him  in  tender  youth  to  go 
astray,  and  harm  comes  to  him,  whose  is  the  fault  ? 

Perhaps  the  very  outrages  and  irregularities  of  which  Phil's 
father  complained  were  in  some  degree  occasioned  by  the  elder's 
own  faults.  He  was  so  laboriously  obsequious  to  great  men  that 
the  son  in  a  rage  defied  and  avoided  them.  He  was  so  grave, 
so  polite,  so  complimentary,  so  artificial  that  Phil,  in  revolt  at 
such  hypocrisy,  chose  to  be  frank,  cynical,  and  familiar.  The 
grave  old  bigwigs  whom  the  doctor  loved  to  assemble,  bland  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLO.  55 

solemn  men  of  the  ancient  school,  who  dined  solemnly  with  each 
other  at  their  solemn  old  houses — such  men  as  old  Lord  Botley, 
Baron  Bumpsher,  Cricklade  (who  published  "  Travels  in  Asia 
Minor,"  4to,  1804),  the  Bishop  of  St.  Bees,  and  the  like — wag- 
ged their  old  heads  sadly  when  they  collogued  in  clubs,  and 
talked  of  poor  Firmin's  scapegrace  of  a  son.  He  would  come 
to  no  good ;  he  was  giving  his  good  father  much  pain ;  he  had 
been  in  all  sorts  of  rows  and  disturbances  at  the  university,  and 
the  master  of  Boniface  reported  most  unfavorably  of  him.  And 
at  the  solemn  dinners  in  Old  Parr  street — the  admirable,  costly, 
6ilent  dinners — he  treated  these  old  gentlemen  with  a  familiarity 
which  caused  the  old  heads  to  shake  with  surprise  and  choking 
indignation.  Lord  Botley  and  Baron  Bumpsher  had  proposed 
and  seconded  Firmin's  boy  at  the  Megatherium  club.  The  pal- 
lid old  boys  toddled  away  in  alarm  when  he  made  his  appearance 
there.  He  brought  a  smell  of  tobacco-smoke  with  him.  lie  was 
capable  of  smoking  in  the  drawing-room  itself.  They  trembled 
before  Philip,  who,  for  his  part,  used  to  relish  their  senile  anger ; 
and  loved,  as  he  called  it,  to  tie  all  their  pigtails  together. 

In  no  place  was  Philip  seen  or  heard  to  so  little  advantage  as 
in  his  father's  house.  "  I  feel  like  a  humbug  myself  among  those 
old  humbugs, "  he  would  say  to  me.  "  Their  old  jokes,  and  their 
old  compliments,  and  their  virtuous  old  conversation  sickened 
me.  Are  all  old  men  humbugs,  I  wonder  ?"  It  is  not  pleasant 
to  hear  misanthropy  from  young  lips,  and  to  find  eyes  that  are 
scarce  twenty  years  old  already  looking  out  with  distrust  on  the 
world. 

In  other  houses  than  his  own  I  am  bound  to  say  Philip  was 
much  more  amiable,  and  he  carried  with  him  a  splendor  of  gayety 
and  cheerfulness  which  brought  sunshine  and  welcome  into  many 
a  room  which  he  frequented.  I  have  said  that  many  of  his  com- 
panions were  artists  and  journalists,  and  their  clubs  and  haunts 
were  his  own.  Ridley  the  Academician  had  Mrs.  Brandon's 
rooms  in  Thornhaugh  street,  and  Philip  was  often  in  J.  J.'s  studio, 
or  in  the  widow's  little  room  below.  He  had  a  very  great  tender- 
ness and  affection  for  her;  her  presence  seemed  to  purify  him; 
and  in  her  company  the  boisterous,  reckless  young  man  was  in- 
variably gentle  and  respectful.  Her  eyes  used  to  fill  with  tears 
when  she  spoke  about  him;  and  when  he  was  present,  followed 
and  watched  him  with-oflffFmothcrly  devotion.  It  was  pleasant 
to  see  him  at  her  homely  little  fireside,  and  hear  bis  jokes  and 
prattle  with  a  fatuous  old  father,  who  was  one  of  Mrs.  Brandon's 
lodgers.  Philip  would  play  cribbage  for  hours  with  this  old  man, 
frisk  about  him  with  a  hundred  harmless  jokes,  and  walk  out  by 
his  invalid  chair,  when  the  old  "captain  went  to  sun  himself  in 
the  New  Road.  He  was  an  idle  fellow,  Philip,  that  *t  the  truth. 
He  had  an  agreeable  perseverance  in  doing  nothing,  and  would 
pass  half  a  day  in  perfect  contentment  over  his  pipe,  watching 


56  THE    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

Ridley  at  bis  easel.  J.  J.  painted  that  charming  head  of  Philip 
which  hangs  in  Mrs.  Brandon's  little  room — with  the  fair  hair, 
the  tawny  beard  and  whiskers,  and  the  bold  blue  eye. 

'Phil  had  a  certain  after-supper  song  of  "  Garryo'wen  na  Gloria," 
which  it  did  you  good  to  hear,  and  which,  when  sung  at  his  full  pitch, 
you  might  hear  for  a  mile  round.  One  night  I  had  been  to  dine 
in  Russell  square,  and  was  brought  home  in  his  carriage  by  Dr. 
Firmin,  who  was  of  the  party.  As  we  came  through  Soho  the 
windows  of  a  certain  club-room  called  the  "  Haunt "  were  open, 
and  we  could  hear  Philip's  song  booming  through  the  night,  and 
especially  a  certain  wild  Irish  war-whoop  with  which  it  concluded, 
amidst  universal  applause  and  enthusiastic  battering  of  glasses. 

The  poor  father  sank  back  in  the  carriage  as  though  a  blow 
had  struck  him.  "  Do  you  hear  his  voice  '?"  he  groaned  out. 
"  Those  are  his  haunts.  My  son,  who  might  go  anywhere,  pre- 
fers to  be  captain  in  a  pot-house,  and  sing  songs  in  a  tap-room!" 

I  tried  to  make  the  best  of  the  case.  I  knew  there  was  no 
harm  in  the  place ;  that  clever  men  of  considerable  note  frequent- 
ed it.  But  the  wounded  father  was  not  to  be  consoled  by  such 
commonplaces  ;  and  a  deep  and  natural  grief  oppressed  him,  in 
consequence  of  the  faults  of  his  son. . 

What  ensued  by  no  means  surprised  me.  Among  Dr.  Fir- 
min's  parents  was  a  maiden  lady  of  suitable  age  and  large  for- 
tune, who  looked  upon  the  accomplished  doctor  with  favorable 
eyes.  That  he  should  take  a  companion  to  cheer  him  in  his  sol- 
itude was  natural  enough,  and  all  his  friends  concurred  in  think- 
ing that  he  should  marry.  Every  one  had  cognizance  of  the 
quiet  little  courtship,  except  the  doctor's  son,  between  whom  and 
his  father  there  were  only  too  many  secrets. 

Some  man  in  a  club  asked  Philip  whether  he  should  condole 
with  him  or  congratulate  on  his  father's  approaching  marriage  ? 
His  what  ?  The  younger  Firmin  exhibited  the  greatest  surprise 
and  agitation  on  hearing  of  this  match.  He  ran  home  ;  he  await- 
ed his  father's  return.  When  Dr.  Firmin  came  home  and  be- 
took himself  to  his  study,  Philip  confronted  him  there.  "  This 
must  be  a  lie,  sir,  which  I  have  heard  to-day,"  the  young  man 
said,  fiercely. 

"A  lie !  what  lie,  Philip  ?"  asked  the  father.  They  w\ire 
both  very  resolute  and  courageous  men. 

"  That  you  are  going  to  marry  Miss  Benson  ?" 

"  Do  you  make  my  house  so  happy  that  I  don't  need  any  oth- 
er companion  V"  asked  the  father. 

"  That 's  not  the  question,"  said  Philip,  hotly.  "  You  can't 
and  must  n't  marry  that  lady,  sir." 

"And  why  not,  sir  ?" 

"  Because  in  the  eyes  of  God  and  Heaven  you  are  married 
already,  sir.  And  I  swear  I  will  tell  Miss  Benson  the  story  to- 
morrow, if  you  persist  in  your  plan. " 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THIC    WORLD.  57 

"  So  you  know  that  story  ?"  groaned  the  father. 

"  Yes.  God  forgive  you,"  said  the  son. 

"  It  was  a  fault  of  ray  youth  that  has  been  bitterly  repented." 

"  A  fault — a  crime  !"  said   Philip. 

"  Enough,  sir  !  Whatever  my  fault,  it  is  not  for  you  to  charge 
me  with  it." 

"If  you  won't  guard  your  own  honor,  I  must.  I  shall  goto 
Miss  Benson  now." 

"If  you  go  out  of  this  house  you  don't  pretend  to  return  to 
it  ?" 

"  Be  it  so.     Let  us  settle  our  accounts  and  part,  sir." 

14  Philip,  Philip !  you  break  my  heart,"  cried  the  father. 

"You  don't  suppose  mine  is  vevy  light,  sir?"  said  the  son. 

Philip  never  had  Miss  Benson  for  a  mother-in-law.  But  father 
and  son  loved  each  other  no  better  after  their  dispute. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
brandox's. 

Thornhaugh  street  is  but  a  poor  place  now,  and  the  houses 
look  as  if  they  had  seen  better  days ;  but  that  house  with  the 
cut  centre  drawing-room  window,  which  has  the  name  of  Bran- 
don on  the  door,  is  as  neat  as  any  house  in  the  quarter,  and  the 
brass  plate  always  shines  like  burnished  gold.  About  Easter 
time  many  fine  carriages  stop  at  that  door,  and  splendid  peo- 
ple walk  in,  introduced  by  a  tidy  little  maid,  or  else  by  an  ath- 
letic Italian  with  a  glossy  black  beard  and  gold  ear-rings,  who 
conducts  them  to  the  drawing-room  floor,  where  Mr.  Ridley,  the 
painter,  lives,  and  where  his  pictures  are  privately  exhibited 
befpre  they  go  to  the  Royal  Academy. 

As  the  carriages  drive  up,  you  will  often  see  a  red-faced  man, 
in  an  olive-green  wig,  smiling  blandly  over  the  blinds  of  the  par- 
lor on  the  ground  floor.  That  is  Captain  Gann,  the  father  of 
the  lady  who  keeps  the  house.  I  don't  know  how  he  came  by 
the  rank  of  captain,  but  he  has  borne  it  so  long  and  gallantly 
that  there  is  no  use  in  any  longer  questioning  the  title.  He 
docs  not  claim  it,  neither  does  he  deny  it-  But  the  wags  who 
call  upon  ?Jrs.  Brandon  can  always,  as  the  phrase  is7  "draw" 
her  father  by  speaking  of  Prussia,  France,  Waterloo,  or  battles 
in  general,  until  the  Little  Sister  says.  "  Now,  never  mind  aboil*, 
the  Battle  of  Waterloo,  papa  "  (she  says  pa — her  h's  are  irregu- 
lar— I  can't  help  it) — "Never  mind  about  Waterloo,  papa; 
you  've  told  them  all  about  it.  And  don't  go  on,  Mr.  Beans, 
don't,  please,  go  on  in  that  way." 

Young  Bean?  has  already  dra^'n  4<  Captain  Gaun  (astvtvd  by 
6 


58  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PJULIT 

Shaw,  i)  '■■  Life  Guardsman)  killing  twenty-four  French  cuiras- 
siers at  Waterloo.**  "  Captain  Garni  cult  inline  Hougoumont." 
"  Cantain  Gann,  called,;  upon  by  Napoleon  Bonaparte  to  lay 
down  his  arms,  saying-,  A  captain  of  militia  dies,  but  never  sur- 
renders.' "  '*■  The  Duke  of  Wellington  pointing  to  the  advanc- 
ing Old  Guard,  and  saying,  '  Up,  Gann,  and  at  them.'"  And 
these  sketches  are  so  di  oil  that  even  the  Little  Sister,  Gann's 
own  daughter.,  can't  help  laughing  at  them.  To  be  sure,  she 
loves  fun,  the  Little  Sister ;  laughs  over  droll  books;  laughs  to 
herself,  in  her  little,  quiet  corner  at  work  ;  laughs  over  pictures; 
and.  at  the  right  place,  laughs  and  sympathises  too.  Ridley 
says  he  knows  lew  better  critics  of  pictures  than  Mrs.  Brandon. 
She  has  a  sweet  temper,  a  merry  sense  of  humor,  that  makes 
the  cheeks  dimple  and  the  eye  shine  ;  and  a  kind  heart,  that 
has  been  sorely  tried  and  wounded,  but  is  still  soft  and  gentle. 
Fortunate  are' they  whose  hearts,  so  tried  by  suffering,  yet  re- 
cover their  health,  Some  have  illnesses  from  which  there  is  no 
recovery,  and  drag  through  Hie  afterward  maimed  and  invalid. 

But  this  Little  Sister,  having  been  subjected  in  youth  to  a 
dreadful  trial  and  sorrow,  was  saved  out  of  it  by  a  kind  Providence, 
and  is  now  so  thoroughly  restored  as  to  own  that  she  is  happy, 
and  to  thank  God  that  she  can  be  grateful  and  useful.  When 
poor  Montfitchet  died  she  nursed  him  through  his  illness  as  ten- 
derly as  his  good  wife  herself.  In  the  days  of  her  own  chief 
grief  and  misfortune  her  father,  who  was  under  the  domination 
of  his  wife,  a  cruel  and  blundering  woman,  thrust  our  poor  little 
Caroline  from  his  door,  when  she.  returned  to  it,  the  broken-heart- 
ed victim  of  a  scoundrel's  seduction  ;  and  when  the  old  captain 
was  himself  in  want  and  houseless,  she  had  found  him,  sheltered, 
and  fed  him.  And  it  was  from  that  day  her  wounds  had  begun  to 
heal,  and,  from  gratitude  for  this  immense  piece  of  good  fortune 
vouchsafed  to  her,  that  her  happiness  and  cheerfulness  returned. 
Returned  V  There  was  an  old  servant  of  the  family,  who  could 
not  stay  in  the  house  because  she  was  so  abominably  disrespect- 
ful to  the  captain,  and  this  woman  said  she  had  never  known 
Miss  Caroline  so  cheerful,  nor  so  happy,  nor  so  good-looking,  as 
she  was  now. 

So  Captain  Gann  came  to  live  with  his  daughter,  and  patron- 
ized her  with  much  dignity.  He  had  a  very  few  yearly  pounds, 
which  served  to  pay  his  club  expenses,  and  a  portion  of  his 
clothes.  His  club,  1  need  not  say,  was  at  the  "Admiral  Byng," 
Tottenham  Court  Road,  and  here  the  captain  met  frequently  a 
pleasant  little  society,  and  bragged  unceasingly  about  his  former 
prosperity. 

I  have  heard  that  the  country-house  in  Kent,  of  which  he 
boasted,  was  a  shabby  little  lodging-house  at  Margate,  of  which 
the  furniture  was  sold  in  execution  ;  but  if  it  had  been  a  palace 
the  captain  would  not  have  been  out  of  place  there,  one  or  two 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.      .  59 

people  still  rather  fondly  thought  His  daughter,  among  others, 
had  tried  to  fancy  all  sorts  of  good  of  her  father,  and  especially 
that  he  was  a  man  of  remarkably  good  manners.  But  she  Lad  seen 
one  or  two  gentlemen  since  she  knew  the  poor  old  father — gentle- 
men with  rough  coats  and  good  hearts,  like  Dr.  Goodenough  ; 
gentlemen  with  superfine  coats  and  superfine  double-milled  man- 
ners, like  Dr.  Firmin,  and  hearts — well,  never  mind  about  that 
point :  gentlemen  of  no  h's,  like  the  good,  dear,  faithful  benefac- 
tor who  had  rescued  her  at  the  brink  of  despair}  men  of  genius, 
like  Ridley  ;  great,  hearty,  generous,  honest  gentlemen,  like 
Philip  ;  and  this  illusion  about  pa,  I  suppose,  had  vanished  along 
with  some  other  fancies  of  her  poor  little  maiden  youth.  The 
truth  is,  she  had  an  understanding  with  the  "Admiral  Byng:" 
the.  landlady  was  instructed  as  to  the  supplies  to  be  furnished  to 
the  captain  ;  and  as  for  his  stories,  poor  Caroline  knew  them  a 
great  deal  too  well  to  believe  in  them  any  more. 

I  would  not  be  understood  to  accuse  the  captain  of  habitual 
inebriety.  He  was  a  generous  officer,  and  his  delight  was,  when' 
in  cash,  to  order  "glasses  round"  for  the  company  at  the  club, 
to  whom  he  narrated  the  history  of  his  brilliant  early  days,  when 
he  lived  in  some  of  the  tip-toe  society  of  this  city,  sir — a'  society 
in  which,  we  need  not  say,  the  custom  always  is  for  gentlemen 
to  treat  other  gentlemen  to  rum-and-water.  Never  mind — I 
wish  we  were  all  as  happy  as  the  captain.  I  see  his  jolly  face 
now  before  me  as  it  blooms  fhroimh  the  window  in  Thornhaugh 
street,  and  the  wave  of  the  somewhat  dingy  hand  which  sweeps 
me  a  gracious  recognition. 

The  clergyman  of  the  neighboring  chapel'  was  a  very  good 
friend  of  the  Little.  Sister,  and  has  taken  tea  in  her  parlor;  to 
which  circumstance  the  captain  frequently  alluded,  pointing  out 
the  very  chair  on  which  the  divine  sate.  Mr.  Gann  attended 
his  ministrations  regularly  every  Sunday,  and  brought  a  rich, 
though  somewhat  worn,  buss  voice  to  bear  upon  the  anthems 
and  hymns  at  the  chapel.  His  style  was  more  florid  than  is 
general  now  among  church  singers,  and,  indeed,  had  been  ac- 
quired in  a  former  age  and  in  the  performance  of  rich  Baccha- 
nalian chants,  such  as  delighted  the  contemporaries  of  our  ln- 
cledons  and  Brahams.  Witha  very  little  entreaty,  the  captain 
could  be  induced  to  sing  at  the  club  ;  and  I  must  own  that  Phil 
Firmin  would  draw  the  captain  out,  and  extract  from  him  a 
song  of  ancient  days;  but  this  must  be  in  the  absence  of  his 
daughter,  whose  little  face  wore  an  air  of  such  extreme  terror 
and  disturbance  when  her  father  sang,  that  he  presently  ceased 
from  exercising  his  musical  talents  in  her  hearing,  lie  hungup 
his  lyre,  whereof  it  must  be  owned  that  time  bad  broken  many 
of  the  once  resounding  chords. 

With  a  sketch  or  two  contributed  by  her  lodgers — with  a  few 
guncracks  from  the  neighboring  Wardour  street   presented  by 


60  THE   ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

others  of  her  friends — with  the  chairs,  tables,  and  bureaus  as 
bright  as  beeswax  and  rubbing  could  make  them — the  Little 
Sister's  room  was  a  cheery  little  place,  and  received  not  a  little 
company.  She  allowed  pa's  pipe.  "  It 's  company  to  him,"  she 
said.  "A  man  can't  be  doing  much  harm  when  he  is  smoking 
his  pipe."  And  she  allowed  Phil's  cigar.  Anything  was  allowed 
to  Phil,  the  other  lodgers  declared,  who  professed  to  be  quite 
jealous  of  Philip  Firmin.  She  had  a  very  few  books.  "  When 
I  was  a  girl  I  used  to  be  always  reading  novels,"  she  said ;  "  but 
la,  they  're  mostly  nonsense.  There  's  Mr.  Pendennis,  who 
comes  to  see  Mr.  Ridley.  I  wonder  how  a  married  man  can  go 
on  writing  about  love,  and  all  that  stuff !"  And,  indeed,  it  is 
rather  absurd  for  elderly  fingers  to  be  still  twanging  Dan  Cu- 
pid's toy  bow  and  arrows.  Yesterday  is  gone — yes,  but  very 
well  remembered ;  and  we  think  of  it  the  more  now  we  know 
that  to-morrow  is  not  going  to  bring  us  much. 

Into  Mrs.  Brandon's  parlor  Mr.  Ridley's  old  father  would 
sometimes  enter  of  evenings,  and  share  the  bit  of  bread  and 
cheese,  or  the  modest  supper  of  Mrs.  Brandon  and  the  captain. 
The  homely  little  meal  has  almost  vanished  out  of  our  life  now, 
but  in  former  days  it  assembled  many  a  family  round  its  kindly 
board.  A  little  modest  supper-tray — a  little  quiet  prattle — a  lit- 
tle kindly  glass  that  cheered  and  never  inebriated.  I  can  see 
friendly  faces  smiling  round  such  a  meal,  at  a  period  not  far 
gone,  but  how  distant !  I  wonder  whether  there  are  any  old 
folks  now  in  old  quarters  of  old  country  towns,  who  come  to 
each  other's  houses  in  sedan-chairs  at  six  o'clock,  and  play  at 
quadrille  until  supper-tray  time  ?  Of  evenings  Ridley  and  the 
captain,  I  say,  would  have  a  solemn  game  at  cribbage,  and  the 
Little  Sister  would  make  up  a  jug  of  something  good  for  the  two 
oldsters.  She  liked  Mr.  Ridley  to  come,  for  he  always  treated 
her  father  so  respectful,  and  was  quite  the  gentleman.  And  as 
for  Mrs.  Ridley,  Mr.  R.'s  "good  lady" — was  she  not  also  grate- 
ful to  the  Little  Sister  for  having  nursed  her  son  during  his 
malady  ?  Through  their  connection  they  were  enabled  to  pro- 
cure Mrs.  Brandon  many  valuable  friends ;  and  always  were 
pleased  to  pass  an  evening  with  the- captain,  and  were  as  civil 
to  him  as  they  could  have  been  had  he  been  at  the  very  height 
of  his  prosperity  and  splendor.  My  private  opinion  of  the  old 
captain,  you  see,  is  that  he  was  a  worthless  old  captain,  but  most 
fortunate  in  his  early  ruin,  after  which  he  had  lived  very  much 
admired  and  comfortable,  sufficient  whiskey  being  almost  always 
provided  for  him. 

Old  Mr.  Ridley's  respect  for  her  father  afforded  a  most  pre- 
cious consolation  to  the  Little  Sister.  Ridley  liked  to  have  the 
paper  read  to  him.  He  was  never  quite  easy  with  print,  and 
to  his  last  days  many  words  to  be  met  with  in  newspapers  and 
elsewhere  used   to  occasion  the  good  butler  much'  intellectual 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  61 

trouble.  The.  Little  Sister  made  his  lodger's  bills  out  for  him 
(Mr.  R.,  as  well  as  the  captain's  daughter,  strove  to  increase  a 
small  income  by  the  letting  of  furnished  apartments),  or  the 
captain  himself  would  take  these  documents  in  charge;  he  wrote 
a  noble  mercantile  hand,  rendered  now  somewhat  shaky  by 
time,  but  stiil  very  line  in  flourishes  and  capitals,  and  very  much 
at  worthy  Mr.  Ridley's  service.  Time  was,  when  his  son  was  a 
boy,  that  J.  J.  himself  had  prepared  these  accounts,  which 
neither  his  father  nor  his  mother  were  very  competent  to  ar- 
range. "  We  were  not  in  our  young  time,  Mr.  Gann,"  Ridley 
remarked  to  his  friend,  "  brought  up  to  much  scholarship  ;  and 
very  little  book  learning  was  given  to  persons  in  my  rank  of  life. 
It  was  necessary  and  proper  for  you  gentlemen,  of  course,  sir." 
"  Of  course,  Mr.  Ridley,"  winks  the  other  veteran  over  his  pipe. 
"  But  I  can't  go  and  ask  my  son  John  James  to  keep  his  old 
father's  books  now  as  he  used  to  do — which  to  do  so  is,  on  the 
part  of  you  and  Mrs.  Brandon,  the  part  of  true  friendship,  and 
J  value  it,  sir,  and  so  do  my  son  John  James  reckonize  and  val- 
ue it,  sir."  Mr.  Ridley  had  served  gentlemen  of  the  bonne  e'cole. 
No  nobleman  could  be  more  courtly  and  grave  than  he  was. 
In  Mr.  Gann's  manner  there  was  more  humorous  playfulness, 
■which  in  no  way,  however,  diminished  the  captain's  high-breed- 
ing. As  he  continued  to  be  intimate  with  Mr.  Ridley,  he  be- 
came loftier  and  more  majestic.  I  think  each  of  these  elders 
acted  on  the  other,  and  for  good ;  and  I  hope  Ridley's  opinion 
was  correct,  -that  Mr.  Gann  was  ever  the  gentleman.  To  see 
these  two  good  fogies  together  was  a  spectacle  for  edification. 
Their  tumblers  kissed  each  other  on  the  table.  Their  elderly 
friendship  brought  comfort  to  themselves  and  their  families.  A 
little  matter  of  money  once  created  a  coolness  between  the  two 
old  gentlemen.  But  the  Little  Sister  paid  the  outstanding  ac- 
count between  her  father  and  Mr.  Ridley  :  there  never  was  any 
further  talk  of  pecuniary  loans  between  them ;  and  when  they 
went  to  the  "Admiral  Byng,"  each  paid  for  himself. 

Phil  often  heard  of  that  nightly  meeting  at  the  "Admiral's 
Head,"  and  longe'd  to  be  of  the  company.  But  even  when  he 
saw  the  old  gentlemen  in  the  Little  Sister's  parlor,  they  felt 
dimly  that  he  was  making  fun  of  them.  The  captain  would  not 
have  been  able  to  brag  so  at  ease  had  Phil  been  continually 
watching  him.  "  I  have  'ad  the  honor  of  waiting  on  your  worthy 
father  at  my  Lord  Todmorden's  table.  Our  little  club  ain't 
no  place  for  you,  Mr.  Philip,  nor  for  my  soil,  though  he  's  a  good 
son,  and  proud  me  and  his  mother  is  of  him,  which  he  have  nev- 
er gave  us  a  moments  pain,  except  when  he  Avas  ill,  since  he 
have  came  toman's  estate,  moat  thankful  am  I,  and  withuiy 
hand  on  my  heart,  for  to  be  able  to  say  so.  But  what  is  good 
for  me  and  Mr.  Gann,  won't  suit  you  young  gentlemen.  You 
ain't  a  tradesman,  sir, else  I'm  mistaken   in  the  family,  which  I 


62  THE    ADVENTURES    U¥    PHILTP 

thought  the  Ringwoods  one  of  the  best  in  England,  and  the 
Firmins  a  good  one  likewise."  Mr.  Ridley  loved  the  sound  of 
his  own  voice*  At  the  festive  meetings  of  the  club  seldom  a 
night  passed  in  which  he  did  not  compliment  ids  brother  ByngS 
and  air  his  own  oratory.  Under  this  reproof  Phil  blushed,  and 
hung  his  conscious  head  with  shame.  "Mr.  Ridley,*'  says  he, 
4i  you  shall  find  !  won't  com,.'  where  I  am  n  tf  welcome-  ;  and  if 
I  come  to  annoy  you  at  the  'Admiral  B.vng,'  may  I  be  taken  out 
on  the  quarter-deck  and  shot.'"  On  which  Mr.  Ridley  pro- 
nounced Philip  to  be  a  "must  singular,  astrornary,  and  asentrie 
voung  mm.  A  good  heart,  sir.  Most  generous  to  relieve  dis- 
tress.  Fine  talent,  sir;  but  I  fear — I  fear  they  won't  come  to 
much  good,  Mr,  Gann — saving  your  presence,  Mrs.  Brandon, 
in'm.  which,  of  course,  you  always  stand  up  for  him." 

When  Philip  Firmin  had  had  his  pipe  and  his  talk  with  the 
Little  Sister  in  her  parlor,  he  would  ascend  and  smoke  his 
second,  third,  tenth  pipe  in  J.  J.  Ridley's  studio.  He  would 
pass  hours  before  J.  J.'s  easel,  pouring  out  talk  about  politics, 
about  religion,  about  poetry,  about  women,  about  the  dreadful 
slavishness  and  meanness  of  the  world — unwearied  in  talk  and 
idleness,  as  placid  J.  J.  was  in  listening  and  labor.  The  paint- 
er had  been  too  busy  in  life  over  his  easel  to  read  many  books. 
His  ignorance  of  literature  smote  him  with  a  frequent  shame. 
He  admired  book-writers,  and  young  men  of  the  university  who 
quoted  their  Greek  and  their  Horace  glibly.  He  listened  with 
deference  to  their  talk  on  such  matters ;  no  doubt  got  good  hints 
from  some  of  them ;  was  always  secretly  pained  and  surprised  when 
the  university  gentlemen  were  beaten  in  argument,  or  loud  and 
coarse  in  conversation,  as  sometimes  they  would  be.  "J.  J.  is  a 
very  clever  fellow,  of  course,"*  Mr.  Jarman  would  say  of  him, 
"and  the  luckiest  man  in  Europe.  He  loves  painting,  and  he 
is  at  work  all  day.  He  loves  toadying  fine  people,  and  he  goes 
to  a  tea-party  every  night,"  You  all  knew  Jarman,  of  Charlotte 
street,  the  miniature-painter  ?  He  was  one  of  the  kings  of  the 
Haunt.  His  tongue  spared  no  one.  He  envjed  all  success,  and 
the  sight  of  prosperity  made  him  furious:  but  to  the  unsuccess- 
ful he  was  kind  ;  to  the  poor  eager  with  help  and  prodigal  of 
compassion;  and  that  old  talk  about  nature's  noblemen  and  the 
glory  of  labor  was  very  fiercely  and  eloquently  waged  by  him. 
His  friends  admired  him  ;  he  was  the  soul  of  independence,  and 
thought,  most  men  sneaks  who  wore  clean  linen  and  frequented 
gentlemen's  society  :  but  it  must  be  owned  his  landlords  had  a 
bad  opinion  of  him,  and  I  have  heard  of  one  or  two  of  his  pecu-:" 
niary  transactions  which  certainly  were  not  to  Mr.  Jarman's 
credit  Jai  man  wis  a  man  of  remarkable  humor.  He  was  fond 
of  the  widow,  una  would  speak  of  her  goodness,  usefulness,  and 
honesty  with  teai'd  in  his  eyes.  She  was  poor  and  struggling 
yet.  Had  she  been  wealthy  and  prosperous,  Mr.  Jarman  would 
not  have  been  so  alive  to  her  merit. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WOULD.  63 

We  ascend  to  the  room  on  the  first  floor,  where  the  centre 
window  has  been  heigthened  so  as  to  afford  an  uppsr  light,  and 
under  that  stream  of  radiance  vis  behold  the  head  of  an  old 
friend,  Mr.  J.  J.  Ridley,  the  R.  Academician.  Time  has  sdtrie- 
what  thinned  his  own  copious  locks,  and  prem iturely  streaked 
the  head  with  silver.  '  II's  face  is  rather  win:  the  eager,  sensi- 
five  hand  which  poises  brush  and  pallet,  and  quivers  over  the 
picture,  is  very  thin:  round  his  eyes  are  many  lines  of  ill-health 
and,  perhaps,  eare,  but  the  eyes  are  as  bright  as  ever,  and,  when 
they  look  at  the  canvas,  or  the  model  which  he  transfers  to  it, 
clear,  and  keen,  and  happy.  He  has  a  very  sweet  singing  voice, 
and  warbles  at.  his  work,  or  whistles  at  it,  smiling.  II  ■  sets  his 
hand  little  feats  of  skill  to  perform,  and  smiles  with  a  boyish 
pleasure  at  his  own  matchless  dexterity.  I  have;  seen  him,  with 
an  old  pewter  mustard-pot  for  a  model,  fashion  a  splendid  silver 
flagon  in  one  of  his  pictures;  paint  the  hair  of  an  animal,  the 
folds  and  flowers  of  a  bit  of  brocade,  and  so  forth,  with  a  perfect 
delight  in  the  work  he  was  performing:  a  delight  lasting  from 
morning  till  sundown,  during  which  time  he  was  too  bu  y  t>  touch 
the  biscuit  and  glass  of  water  which  was  prepared  i')f  his  frugal 
luncheon.  He  i-  greedy  of  the  last  minute  of  light,  arid  never 
can  be  got  from  his  darling  pictures  without  a  regret.  To  be  a 
painter,  and  to  have  your  hind  in  perfect  command,  I  hold  to  be 
one  of  life's  summit  bona.  Tbe  bappy  mixture  of  hand  and  head 
work  must  render  the  occupation  supremely  pleasant.  In  the 
day's  work  must  occur  endless  delightful  difficulties  and  occa- 
sions for  skill.  Over  the  details  of  that  armor,  that  drapery,  or 
what  not,  the,  sparkle  of  that  eye,  the  downy  blush  of  that  cheek, 
the  jewel  on  that  neck,  there  are  battles  to  be  fought  and  victo- 
ries to  be  won.  Each  day  there  must  occur  critical  moments'  of 
supreme  struggle  and  ir.  tmph,  when  struggle  and  victory  must 
be  both  invigorating  and  exquisitely  pleasing — -as  a  burst  across 
country  is  to  a  fine  rider  perfectly  mounted,  who  knows  that  his 
courage  and  his  horse  will  never  fail  him.  There  is  the  excite- 
ment of  the  game,  ami  the  g  tlhnt  delight  in  winning  it.  Of 
this  sort  of  admirable  reward  for  their  labor,  no  men,  I  think, 
have  a  greater  share  than  paint  *rs  (perhaps  a  violin-player,  per- 
fectly and  triumphantly  performing  his  own  beautiful  composi- 
tion, may  be  equally  happy).  Here  is  occupation :  here  is  ex- 
citement :  here  is  struggle  and  victory  :  and  here  is  profit.  Can 
man  ask  more  from  fortune?  Dukes  and  Rothschilds  maybe 
envious  of  such  a  man. 

Though  Ridley  has  had  his  trials  'and  troubles,  as  we  shall 
presently  learn,  his  art  has  mastered  them  all.  Black  care  may* 
Lave  sal  in  crupper  on  that  Pegasus,  but  has  never  unhor^d  the 
rider.      In  certain  mind  I  i.uiuant  and  superior  to  all  be- 

sides— stronger  than  lov  *erthan  hate,  or  care,  or  penury. 

As  soon  as  the  tever  leaves  the  hand  i've--  ir  is  seizing  an  i  fond- 


64  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

ling  the  pencil.  Love  may  frown  and  be  false,  but  the  other 
mistress  never  will.  She  is  always  true,  always  new,  always  the 
friend,  companion,  inestimable  consoler.  So  John  James  Ridley 
sat  at  his  easel  from  breakfast  till  sundown,  and  never  left  his 
work  quite  willingly.  I  wonder  are  nun  of  other  trades  so 
enamored  of  theirs;  whether  lawyers  cling  to  the  last  to  their 
darling  reports ;  or  writers  prefer  their  desks  and  inkstands  to 
society,  to  friendship,  to  dear  idleness?  ]  have  seen  no  men  in 
life  loving  their  profession  so  much  as  painters,  except,  perhaps, 
actors,  who,  when  not  engaged  themselves,  always  go  to  the  play. 
Before  this  busy  easel  Phil  would  sit  for  hours,  and  pour  out 
endless  talk  and  tobacco-smoke.  His  presence  was  a  delight  to 
Ridley's  soul;  his  face  a  sunshine  ;  his  voice  a  cordial.  Weakly 
himself,  and  almost  infijm  of  body,  with  sensibilities  tremulously 
keen,  the  painter  most  admired  among  men  strength,  health, 
good  spirits,  good-breeding.  Of  these,  in  his  youth,  Philip  had 
a  wealth  of  endowment;  and  I  hope  these  precious  gifts  of  fort- 
une have  not  left  him  in  his  maturer  age.  I  do  not  say  that 
with  all  men  Philip  was  so  popular.  There  are  some  who  never 
can  pardon  good  iortune,  and  in  the  company  of  gentlemen  are 
on  the  watch  for  offence ;  and,  no  doubt,  in  his  course  through 
life,  poor  downright  Phil  trampled  upon  corns  enough  of  those 
who  met  him  in  his  way.  "  Do  you  know  why  Ridley  is  so  fond 
of  Firmin  ?"  asked  Jarman.  "  Because  Firmin's  father  hangs 
on  to  the  nobility  by  the  pulse,  while  Ridley,  you  know,  is  con- 
nected with  them  through  the  sideboard."  So  Jarman  had  the 
double  horn  for  his  adversary  :  he  could  despise  a  man  for  not. 
being  a  gentleman,  and  insult  him  for  being  one.  I  have  met 
with  people  in  the  world  with  whom  the  latter  offence  is  an  un- 
pardonable crime — a  cause  of  ceaseless  doubt,  division,  and  sus- 
picion. What  more  conrmtm  or  natural,  Bufo,  than  to  hate 
another  for  being  what  you  are  not?  The  story  is  as  old  as 
frogs,  bulls,  and  men. 

Then,  to  be  sure,  besides  your  enviers  in  life,  there  are  your 
admirers.  Beyond  wit,  which  he  understood — beyond  genius, 
which  he  had — Ridley  admired  good  looks  and  manners,  and 
always  kept  some  simple  hero  whom  he  loved  secretly  to  cherish 
and  worship.  He  loved  to  be  among  beautiful  women  and  aris- 
tocratical  men.  Philip  Firmin,  with  his  republican  notions  and 
downright  bluntness  of  behavior  to  all  men  of  rank  superior  to 
him,  had  a  grand  high  manner  of  his  own  ;  and  if  he  had  scarce 
two-pence  in  his  pocket,  would  have  put  his  hands  in  them  with 
as  much  independence  as  the  greatest  dandy  who  ever  sauntered 
%  on  Pall  Mall  pavement.  What  a  coolness  the  fellow  had  !  Some 
men  may,  not  unreasonably,  have  thought  it  impudence.  It 
fascinated  Ridley.  To  be  such  a  man  ;  to  have  such  a  figure 
and  manner;  to  be  able  to  look  society  in  the  face,  slap  it  on  the 
shoulder,  if  you  were  so  minded,  and  hold  it  by  the  button — 


ON    HIS   WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  65 

what  would  not  Ridley  give  for  such  powers  and  accomplish- 
ments V  You  will  please  to  bear  in  mind,  I  am  not  saying  that 
J.  J  was  right,  only  that  he  was  as  he  was.  I  hope  we  shall 
have  nobody  in  this  story  without  his  little  faults  and  peculiari- 
ties. Jarman  was  quite  right  when  he  said  Ridley  loved  fine 
company.  I  believe  his  pedigree  gave  him  secret  anguishes. 
He  would  rather  have  been  genth-man  than  genius  ever  so  great ; 
but  let  you  and  me,  who  have  no  weaknesses  of  our  own,  try  and 
look  charitably  on  this  confessed  foible  of  my  friend. 

J.  J.  never  thought  of  rebuking  Philip  for  being  idle.  Phil 
was  as  the  lilies  of  the  field,  in  the  painter's  opinion.  He  was  not 
called  upon  to  toil  or  spin  ;  but  to  take  his  ease,  and  grow  and 
bask  in  sunshine,  and  be  arrayed  in  glory.  The  little  clique  of 
painters  knew  what  Firmin's  means  were.  Thirty  thousand 
pounds  of  his  own.  Thirty  thousand  pounds  down,  sir;  and  the 
inheritance  of  his  father's  immense  fortune!  A 'splendor  ema- 
nated from  this  gifted  young  man.  His  opinions,  his  jokes,  his 
laughter,  his  song,  had  the  weight  of  thirty  thousand  down,  sir;' 
and  etc.,  etc.  What  call  had  he  to  work?  Would  you  set  a 
young  nobleman  to  be  an  apprentice  V  Philip  was  free  to  be  as 
idle  as  any  lord,  if  he  liked.  He  ought  to  wear  fine  clothes,  ride 
fine  horses,  dine  off'  plate,  and  drink  champagne  every  day.  J. 
J.  would  work  quite  cheerfully  till  sunset,  and  have  an  eight- 
penny  plate  of  meat  in  Wai  dour  street  and  a  glass  of  porter  for 
his  humble  dinner.  At  the  Haunt,  and  similar  places  of  Bohe- 
mian resort,  a  snug  place  near  the  fire  was  always  found  for 
Firmin.  Fierce  republican  as  he  was,  Jarman  had  a  smile  for 
his  lordship,  and  used  to  adopt  particularly  dandified  airs  when 
he  had  been  invited  to  Old  Parr  street  to  dinner.  I  dare  say 
Philip  liked  flattery.  I  own  that  he  was  a  little  weak  in  this 
respect,  and  that  you  and  I,  my  dear  sir,  are,  of  course,  far  his 
superiors.  J.  J.,  who  loved  him,  would  have  had  him  follow  his 
aunt's  and  cousin's  advice,  and  live  in  better  company;  but  I 
think  the  painter  would  not  have  liked  his  pet  to  soil  his  hands 
with  too  much  work,  and  rather  admired  Mr.  Phil  for  being  idle. 
The  Little  Sister  gave  him  advice,  to  be  sure,  both  as  to  the  com- 
pany he  (should  keep  and  the  occupation  which  was  wholesome 
for  him.  But  when  others  of  his  acquaintance  hint<^  that  his 
idleness  would  do  him  harm,  she  would  not  hear  of  th#r  censure. 
"Why  should  he  work  if  he  don't  choose?"  she  asked.  "  He 
has  no  call  to  be  scribbling  and  scrabbling.  You  would  n't  have 
him  sitting  all  day  painting  little  dolls'  heads  on  canvas,  and 
working  like  a  slave.  A  pretty  idea,  indeed  !  His  uncle  will 
get  him  an  appointment.  That's  the  thing  he  should  have.  lie 
should  be  secretary  to  an  ambassador  .-.broad,  and  he  will  be  I" 
In  fact,  Phil,  at  this  period,  used  to  announce  bis  wish  to  enter 
the  diplomatic  service,  and  bis  hope  that  Lord  RingwooH  would 
further  his  views  in  that  respect.    Meanwhile  he  was  the  king 


THE    ADVKNTT7RK9    OP    PHILIP 

of  Thornhaugh  street.  He  might  be  as  idle  as  lie'  chose,  and 
Mrs.  Brandon  had  always  a  smile  for  him.  He  might  smoke 
a  great  deal  too  inueh,  but  she  worked  dainty  little  cigar-oases 
for  him.  She  hemmed  him  fine  cambric  pocket-handkerchiefs, 
and  embroidered  his  crest  at  the  corners.  She  worked  him  a 
waistcoat  so  splendid  that  he  almost  blushed  to  wear  it,  gorgeous 
as  he  was  in  apparel  at  this  period,  and  sumptuous  in  chains, 
studs,  and  haberdashery.  1  fear  Dr.  Firmin,  sighing  out  his  dis- 
appointed hopes  in  respect  of  his  sou,  has  rather  good  cause  for 
his  dissatisfaction.  But  of  these  remonstrances  the  Little  Sister 
would  not  hear.  u  Idle,  why  not  ?  Why  should  lie  work  ?  Boys 
will  be  boys.  I  dare  say  his  grumbling  old  pa  was  not  better 
than  Philip  when  he  was  young!"  And  this  she  spoke  with  a 
heightened  color  in  her  little  face,  and  a  defiant  toss  of  her  head, 
of  which  I  did  not  understand  all  the  significance  then;  but  at- 
tributed her  e:iger  partisanship  to  that  admirable  injustice  which 
belongs  to  all  <jood  women,  and  for  which  let  us  be  daily  thank- 
ful.  I  know,  dear  ladies,  you  are  angry  at  this  statement.  But, 
even  at  the  risk  of  displeasing  you,  we  must  tell  the  truth.  You 
would  wish  to  represent  yourselves  as  equitable,  logical,  and 
strictly  just.  So,  f  dare  say.  Dr.  Johnson  would  have  liked  Mrs. 
Thrale  to  say  to  him,  "Sir,  your  manners  are  graceful;  your 
person  elegant,  cleanly,  and  eminently  pleasing  ;  your  appetite 
small  (especially  for  tea),  and  your  dancing  equal  to  the  Vio- 
letta's;"  which,  you  perceive,  is  merely  ironical.  Women  equi- 
table, logical,  and  strictly  just !  Mercy  upon  us  !  If  they  were, 
population  would  cease,  the  world  would  be  a  howling  wilder- 
ness. Well,  in  a  a  word,  this  Little  Sister  petted  and  coaxed 
Philip  Fy-min  in  such  an  absurd  way  that  every  one  remarked 
it — those  who  had  no  friends,  no  sweethearts,  no  mothers,  no 
daughters,  no  wives,  and  those  who  were  petted,  and  coaxed, 
and  spoiled  at  home  themselves;  as  I  trust,  dearly  beloved,  is 
your  case. 

Now,  again,  let  us  admit  that  Philip's  father  had  reason  to  be 
angry  with  the  boy,  and  deplore  his  son's  taste  for  low  company; 
but  excuse  the  young  man,  on  tin?  other  hand,  somewhat  for  his 
fierce  revolt  and  profound  distaste  at  much  in  his  home  circle 
which  annoyed  him.  "  By  Heaven  !"  (he  would  roar  out,  pull- 
ing his  hair  and  whiskers,  and  with  many  fierce  ejaculations,  ac- 
cording to  his  wont)  *•  the  solemnity  of  those  humbugs  sickens 
me  so,  that  I  should  like  to  crown  the  old  bishop  with  the  soup 
tureen,  and  box  Baron  Bumpsher's  ears  with  the  saddle  of  mut- 
ton. At  my  Aunt's  the  humbug  is  just  the  same.  It 's  better 
(lone/ perhaps  ;  but  oh,  Pendennis !  if  you  could  but  know  (he 
pangs  which  tore  into  my  heart,  sir,  the  vulture  which  gnawed 
at  this  confounded  liver,  when  i  saw  women — women  who  ought 
to  be  pure — women  who  ought,  to  be  like  angels — women  who 
ought  to  know  no   art  but  that  of  coaxing  our  griefs  away   and 


ON    Iim    WAY    THROUGH    THE' WORLD.  C7 

soothing  our  sorrows — fawning,  and  cringing1,  and  scheming  ; 
cold  to  this  person,  humble  to  that,  flattering  to  the  rich,  and  in- 
different to  the  humble  in  station.  I  toll  you  I  haveseen  all  this, 
Mrs.  Pendennis!  I  won't  mention  names,  bat  I  have  met  with 
those  who  have  made  me  old  before  my  time— a  hundred  years 
old  !  The  zest  of  life  is  passed  from  rne  "  (here  Mr.  Phil  would 
gulp  a  bumper  from  the  nearest  decanter  ai  hand).  "  Bui  if  I 
like  what  your  husband  is  pleased  to  call  low  society,  it  is  be- 
cause I  hive  seen  the  other.  I  have,  dangled  about  at  fine  par- 
tic-',  and  danced  at  fashionable  balls.  F  have  seen  mothers  bring 
their  virgin  daughters  up  to  battered  old  rakes,  and  ready  to 
sacrifice  their  innocence  for  fortune  or  a  title.  The  atmosphere 
of  those  polite  drawing-rooms  stifles  me.  I  can  't  bow  the  knee. 
to  the  horrible  old  Mammon.  I  walk  about  in  the  crowds  as 
lonely  as  if  I  was  in  a  wilderness;  and  don't  begin  to  breathe 
freely  until  I  get  some  honest  tobacco  to  clear  the  air.  As  for 
your  husband  "  (meaning  the  writer  of  this  memoir),  "  he  can  not 
help  himself  ;*he  is  a  worldling,  of  the  earth,  earthy.  If  a  duke 
were  to  ask  him  to  dinner  to-morrow,  the  parasite  owns  that,  he 
would  Lro.  Allow  me  my  friends,  my  freedom,  my  rough  com- 
panions, in  their  work -day  clothes.  I  don't  hear  such  lies  and 
flatteries  come  from  behind  pipes  as  used  to  pass  from  above 
white  chokers  when  I  was  in  the  world."  And  he  would  tear  at 
his  cravat  as  though  the  mere  thought  of  the  worlds  conven- 
tionality well-nigh  strangled  him. 

This,  to  be  sure,  was  in  a  late  stage  of  his  career,  but  1  take 
up  the  biography  here  and  there,  so  as  to  give  the  best  idea  1 
may  of  my  friend's  character.  At  this  time — lie  is  out  of  the 
country  just  now,  and  besides,  if  he  saw  his  own  likeness  staring 
him  in  the  face,  \  am  confident  he  would  not  know  it — Mr. 
Philip,  in  some  things,  was  as  obstinate  as  a  mule,  and  in  others 
as  weak  as  a  woman.  He  had  a  childish  sensibility  for  what 
was  tender,  helpless,  pretty,  or  pathetic  ;  and  a  mighty  scorn  of 
imposture,  wherever  he  found  it  fie  had  many  good  pur- 
poses, which  were  often  very  vacillating,  and  were  but  seldom 
performed.  lie.  had  a  vast  number  of  evil  habits,  whereof,  you 
know,  idleness  is  said  to  be  the  root.  Many  of  these  evil  pro- 
pensities he  coaxed  and  cuddled  with  much  care;  and  though 
he  roared  oul  peccavi  most  frankly  when  charged  with  his  sins, 
this  criminal  would  fall  to  peecation  very  soon  after  promising 
amendment.  What  he  liked  he  would  have.  What  he  dis- 
liked he  could  with  the  greatest  difficulty  be  found   to  do.     He 

liked  good  dinners,  good  wine,  good  horses,  good  clothes,  and 
late  hours;  and  in  all  these  comforts  of  life  (or  any  others  which 
he  fancied  orjvhj  h  were  win  in  his  means)  he  indulged  himself 
with  perfect  freedom,  lie  hated  hypocrisy  on  histown  part,  and 
hypo  riles  in  general.  Lie  said  everything  thai  came  into  his 
mind  about   thinga and  people ;   and  of  course  was  often  wn 


68  THE   ADVENTURES    OE    PHILIP 

and  often  prejudiced,  and  often  occasioned  howls  of  indignation 
or  malignant  whispers  of  hatred  by  his  free  speaking.  He  be- 
lieved everything  that  was  said  to  him  until  his  informant  had 
misled  him  once  or  twice,  after  which  he  would  believe  nothing. 
And  here  you  will  see  that  his  impetuous  credulity  was  as  absurd 
as  the  subsequent  obstinacy  of  his  unbelief.  My  dear  young 
friend,  the  profitable  way  in  life  is  the  middle  way.  Don't 
quite  believe  anybody,  for  he  may  mislead  you ;  neither  disbe- 
lieve him,  for  that  is  uncomplimentary  to  your  friend.  Black  is 
not  so  very  black  ;  and  as  for  white,  bon  Dieu  !  in  our  climate 
what  paint  will  remain  white  long  ?  If  Philip  was  self-indulgent, 
I  suppose  other  people  are  self-indulgent  likewise  :  and  besides, 
you  know,  your  faultless  heroes  have  ever  so  long  gone  out  of 
fashion.  To  be  young,  to  be  good-looking,  to  be  healthy,  to  be 
hungry  three  times  a  day,  to  have  plenty  of  money,  a  great 
alacrity  of  sleeping,  and  nothing  to  do — all  these,  I  dare  say,  are 
very  dangerous  temptations  to  a  man  ;  but  I  think  I  know  some 
who  would  like  to  undergo  the  dangers  of  the  trial.  Suppose 
there  be  holidays,  is  there  not  work  time  too  ?  Suppose  to-day 
is  feast-day,  may  not  tears  and  repentance  come  to-morrow '? 
Such  times  are  in  store  for  Master  Phil,  and  so  please  to  let  him 
have  rest  and  comfort  for  a  chapter  or  two. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IMPLETUR    VETEKIS    BACCHI. 

That  time,  that  merry  time,  of  Brandon's,  of  Bohemia,  of  oys- 
ters, of  idleness,  of  smoking,  of  song  at  night  and  profuse  soda- 
water  in  the  morning,  of  a  pillow — lonely  and  bachelor,  it  is 
true,  but  with  few  cares  for  bedfellows — of  plenteous  pocket- 
money,  of  ease  for  to-day  and  little  heed  for  to-morrow,  was 
often  remembered  by  Philip  in  after-days.  Mr.  Phil's  views  of 
life  were  not  very  exalted,  were  they  ?  The  fruits  of  this  world 
which  he  devoured  with  such  gusto,  I  must  own,  were  of  the 
common  kitchen-garden  sort ;  and  the  lazy  rogue's  ambition 
went  no  farther*than  to  stroll  along  the  sunshiny  wall,  eat  his 
fill,  and  then  repose  comfortably  in  the  arbor  under  the  arched 
vine.  Why  did  Phil's  mother's  parents  leave  her  thirty  thousand 
pounds?  I  dare  say  some  misguided  people  would  be  glad  to 
do  as  much  lor  their  sons;  but,  if  J  have  ten,  I  am  determined 
they  shall  either  have  a  hundred  thousand  apiece,  or  else  bare 
bread  and  cheese.  "  Man  was  made  to  labor,  and  to  be  lazy," 
Phil  would  affirm,  Avith  his  usual  energy  of  expre*ssion.  "When 
the  Indian  warrior  goes  on  the  bunting-path  he  is  sober,  active, 
indomitable.     No  dangers  fright  him,  and  no  labors  (ire.     He 


ON   HI8    WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  69 

endures  the  cold  of  the  winter;  he  couches  on  the  forest  loaves  ; 
he  subsists  on  frugal  roots,  or  the  casual  spoil  of  his  bow.  When 
he  returns  to  his  village  he  gorges  to  repletion  ;  he  sleeps,  per- 
haps, to  excess.  When  the  game  is  devoured,  and  the  fire-water 
exhausted,  again  he  sallies  forth  into  the  wilderness ;  he  out- 
climbs  the  possum,  and  he  throttles  the  bear.  I  am  the  Indian  ; 
and  this  haunt  is  my  wigwam  I  Barbara,  my  squaw,  bring  me 
oysters;  bring  me  a  jug  of  the  frothing  black-beer  of  the  pale- 
faces, or  I  will  hang  up  thy  scalp  on  my  tent-pole."  And  old 
Barbara,  the  good  old  attendant  of  this  Haunt  of  Bandits,  would 
say,  "  Law,  Mr.  Philip,  how  you  do  go  on,  to  be  sure  !"  Where 
is  the  Haunt  now  ?  and  where  are  the  merry  men  all  who  there 
assembled  ?  The  sign  is  down ;  the  song  is  silent ;  the  sand  is 
swept  from  the  floor ;  the  pipes  are  broken,  and  the  ashes  are 
scattered. 

A  little  more  gossip  about  his  merry  days,  and  we  have  done. 
He,  Philip,  was  called  to  the  bar  in  due  course,  and  at  his  call- 
supper  he  assembled  a  dozen  of  his  elderly  and  youthful  friends. 
The  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings  were  given  up  to  him  for 
this  day.  Mr.  Van  John,  I  think,  was  away  attending  a  steeple- 
chase ;  but  Mr.  Cassidy  was  with  us,  and  several  of  Philip's 
acquaintances  of  school,  college,  and  the  world.  There  was 
Philip's  father,  and  Philip's  uncle  Tw)>den,and  I,  Phil's  revered 
and  respectable  school  senior,  and  others  of  our  ancient  semina- 
ry. There  was  Burroughs,  the  second  wrangler  of  his  year, 
great  in  metaphysics,  greater  with  the  knife  and  fork.  There 
was  Staekpole,  Eblana's  favorite  child — the  glutton  of  all  learn- 
ing, the  master  of  many  languages,  who  stuttered  and  blushed 
when  he  spoke  his  own.  There  was  Pinkerton,  who  albeit  an 
ignoramus  at  the  university,  was  already  winning  prodigious 
triumphs  at  the  parliamentary  bar,  and  investing  in  consols  to 
the  admiration  of  all  his  contemporaries.  There  was  Rosebury 
the  beautiful,  the  May-fair  pet  and  delight  of  Almack's,  the 
cards  on  whose  mantel-piece  made  all  men  open  the  eyes 
of  wonder,  and  some  of  us  dart  the  scowl  of  envy.  There 
was  my  Lord  Ascot,  Lord  Egham's  noble  son.  There 
was  Tom  Dale,  who  having  carried  on  his  university  career  too 
splendidly,  had  come  to  grief  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  was  now 
meekly  earning  his  bread  in  the  reporter's  gallery,  alongside  of 
Cassidy.  There  was  Macbride,  who  having  thrown  up  his  fel- 
lowship and  married  his  cousin,  was  now  doing  a  brave  battle 
with  poverty,  and  making  literature  feed  him  uutil  law  should 
reward  him  more  splendidly.  There  was  Haythorn,  the  country 
gentleman,  who  ever  remembered  his  old  college  chums,  and 
kept  the  memory  of  that  friendship  up  by  constant  reminders  of 
pheasants  and  game  in  the  season.  There  were  Raby  and 
Maynard  from  the  Guards'  Club  (Maynard  sleeps  now  under 
Crimean  snows),  who  preferred  arms  to  the   toga,  but  carried 


70  THE    ADVEXTUiii'tJ    OF    riliLII' 

into  their  military  life  Lhq  love  of  their  old  books,  tlie  affection 
of  their  old  friends.  Most  of  these  musi  be  mule  personages  in 
our  little  drama.  Could  any  chronicler  remember  the  talk  of  all 
of  them? 

Several  of  the  guests  present  were  members  of  the  Inn  of 
Court  (the  Upper  Temple),  which  had  conferred  on  Philip  the 
degree  of  Barrister-at-Law.  He  had  dined  in  his  wig  and 
gown  (Blackmore's  wig  and  gown)  in  the  inn  hall  that  day,  in 
company  with  other  members  of  his  inn  ;  and,  dinner  over,  we 
adjourned  to  Phil's  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings,  where  a 
dessert  was  served,  to  which  Mr.  Firmin's  friends  were  convoked. 

The  wines  came  from  Dr.  Firmin's  cellar.  His  servants  were 
in  attendance  to  wait  upon  the  company.  Father  and  son  both 
loved  splendid  hospitalities,  and  as  far  as  creature  comforts  went 
Philip's  feast  was  richly  provided.  "  A  supper — I  love  a  supper, 
of  all  things !  And  in  order  that  I  might  enjoy  yours,  I  only 
took  a  single  mutton-chop  for  dinner  !"  cried  Mr.  Twysden,  as  he 
greeted  Philip.  Indeed,  we  found  him,  as  we  arrived  from  the 
hall,  already  in  the  chambers,  and  eating  the  young  barrister's 
dessert.  "  He's  been  here  ever  so  long,"  says  Mr.  Brice,who  of- 
ficiated as  butler,  '•  pegging  away  at  the  olives  and  macaroons. 
Shouldn't  wonder  if"  he  has  pocketed  some."  There  was  small 
respect  on  the  part  of  Brice  for  Mr,  Twysden,  whom  the  worthy 
butler  frankly  pronounced  to  be  a  stingy  'umbug.  Meanwhile, 
Talbot  believed  that  the  old  man  respected  him,  and  always 
conversed  with  Brice,  and  treated  him  with  a  cheerful  cordiality. 

The  outer  Philistines  quickly  arrived,  and  but  that  the  wine 
and  men  were  older,  one  might  have  fancied  one's  self  at  a  col- 
lege wine-party.  Mr.  Twysden  talked  for  the  whole  company. 
He  was  radiant.  He  felt  himself  in  high  spirits.  He  did  the 
honors  of  Philip's  table.  Indeed,  no  man  was  more  hospitable 
with  other  folks'  wine.  Philip  himself  was  silent  and  nervous. 
1  asked  him  if  the  awful  ceremony  which  he  had  just  undergone 
was  weighing  on  his  mind  V 

He  was  looking  rather  anxiously  toward  the  door ;  and,  know- 
ing somewhat  of  the  state  of  affairs  at  home,  I  thought  that  prob- 
ably he  and  his  father  had  had  one  of  the  disputes  which,  of  late 
days,  had  become  so  frequent  between  them. 

The  company  were  nearly  all  assembled,  and  busy  with  their 
talk,  and  drinking  the  doctor's  excellent  claret,  when  Brice  en- 
tering announced  Dr.  Firmin  and  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt. 

uHang  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt!"  Philip  was  going  to  say ;  but  he 
started  up,  went  forward  to  his  father,  and  greeted  him  very  re- 
spectfully. He  then  gave  a  bow  to  the  gentleman  introduced  as 
Mr.  Hunt,  and  they  found  places  at  the  table,  the  doctor  taking 
his  with  his  usual  handsome  grace. 

The  conversation,  which  had  been  pretty  brisk  until  Dr.  Fir- 
min came,  drooped  a  little  after  his  appearance.     "  We  had  an 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  7  1 

awful  row  two  days  ago,"  Philip  whispered  tqjjne.  "  Wd  shook 
bands  and  are.  reconciled,  as  you  see.  He  won't  stay  long,  lit; 
will  be  sent  for  in  half  an  hour  or  so.  lie  will  say  he  has  been 
sent  for  by  a  duchess,  and  go  and  have  tea  at  tie,'  club." 

Dr.  Firmin  bowed,  and  smiled  sadly  at  me,  as  Philip  was  speak- 
ing. I  dare  say  I  blushed  somewhat,  and  felt  as  it"  the  doctor 
knew  what  his  son  was  saying  to  me.  He  presently  engaged  in 
conversation  with  Lord  Aseoi  ;  he  hoped  his  cood  father  was 
well  ? 

"  You  keep  him  so,  doctor.  You  don't  give  a  fellow  a  chance," 
says  the  young  lord. 

"  Pass  the  bottle,  you  young  men  !  Hey  !  We,  intend  to  see 
you  all  out  1"  cries  Talbot  Twysden,  on  pleasure  bent  and  of  the 
frugal  mind. 

"  Well  said,  sir,"  says  the  stranger  introduced  as  Mr.  Hunt ; 
"  and  right  good  wine.  Ha,  Firmin  !  I  think  I  know  the  tap  !" 
and  he.  smacked  his  lips  over  the  claret.  "  It 's  your  twenty-five, 
and  no  mistake." 

"  The  red-nosed  individual  seems  a  connoisseur,"  whispered 
llosebury  at  my  side. 

The  stranger's  nose,  indeed,  was  somewhat  rosy.  And  to  this 
I  may  add  that  his  clothes  were  black,  his  face  pale  and  not  well 
shorn,  his  white  neckcloth  dingy,  and  his  eyes  bloodshot. 

11  He  looks  as  if  he  had  gone  to  bed  in  his  clothes,  and  carries 
a  plentiful  Hue  about  his  person.  Who  is  your  father's  esteemed 
friend  V"  continues  the  wag,  in  an  under  voice. 

"  You  heard  his  name,  llosebury,"  says  the  young  hamster, 
gloomily. 

"  I  should  suggest  that  your  father  is  in  difficulties,  and  attend- 
ed by  an  officer. of  the  sheriff  of  London,  or  perhaps  subject  to 
mental  aberration,  and  placed  under  the  control  of  a  keeper." 

u  Leave  me  alone,  do  !"  groaned  Philip.  And  here  Twysden, 
who  was  longing  for  an  opportunity  to  make  a  speech,  bounced 
up  from  his  chair,  and  stopped  the  facetious  barrister's  further 
remarks  by  his  own  eloquence.  His  discourse  was  in  praise  of 
Philip,  the  new-made  barrister.  "  What !  if  no  one  else  will  give 
that  toast  your  uncle  will,  and  many  a  heartfelt  blessing  go  with 
you,  too,  my  boy  I"  cried  the  little  man.  He  was  prodigal  of 
benedictions.  He  dashed  aside  the  tear-drop  of  emotion.  He 
spoke  with  perfect  fluency,  and  for  a  considerable  period.  He 
really  made  a  good  speech,  and  was  greeted  with  deserved  cheers 
when  at  length  he  sat  down. 

Phil  stammered  a  few  words  in  reply  to  his  uncle's  voluble 
compliments;  and  then  Lord  Ascot,  a  young  nobleman  of  much 
familiar  humor,  proposed  Phil's  father,  his  health,  and  song.  The 
physician  made  a  neat  speech  from  behind  his  rufllcd  shirt.  He 
was  agitated  by  the  tender  feelings  of  a  paternal  heart,  he  said, 
glancing  benignly  at  Phil,  who  was  cracking  filberts.     To  see  his 


72  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

son  happy  ;  to  see  him  surrounded  by  such  friends ;  to  know  him 
embarked  this  day  in  a  profession  which  gave  the  greatest  scope 
for  talents,  the  noblest  reward  for  industry,  was  a  proud  and 
happy  moment  to  him,  Dr.  Firmin.  What  had  the  poet  observ- 
ed ?  '-Ingcnuas  didicisse  fideliler  artes"  [hear,  hear!]  " emollit 
mares  " — yes,  "emollit  mores.'*  He  drank  a  bumper  to  the  young 
barrister  (he  waved  his  ring,  with  a  thimbleful  of  wine  in  his 
glass).  He  pledged  the  young  friends  whom  he  saw  assembled  to 
cheer  his  son  on  his  onward  path.  He  thanked  them  with  a 
father's  heart !  He  passed  his  emerald  ring  across  his  eyes  for  a 
moment,  and  lifted  them  to  the  ceiling,  from  which  quarter  he  re- 
quested a  blessing  on  his  boy.'  As  though  spirits  (of  whom,  per- 
haps, you  have  read  in  the  columns  of  this  magazine)  approved 
of  his  invocation,  immense  thumps  came  from  above,  along  with 
the  plaudits  which  saluted  the  doctor's  speech  from  the  gentle- 
men round  the  table.  But  the  upper  thumps  were  derisory,  and 
came  from  Mr.  Buffers,  of  the  third  floor,  who  chose  this  method 
of"  mocking  our  harmless  little  festivities. 

I  think  these  cheers  from  the  facetious  Buffers,  though  meant 
in  scorn  of  our  party,  served  to  enliven  it  and  make  us  laugh. 
Spite  of  all  the  talking,  we  were  dull ;  and  I  could  not  but  allow 
the  force  of  my  neighbor's  remark,  that  we  were  sate  upon  and 
smothered  by  the  old  men.  One  or  two  of  the  younger  gentle- 
men chafed  at  the  license  for  tobacco-smoking  not  being  vet  ac- 
corded.     But  Philip  interdicted  this  amusement  as  yet. 

"  Don't,"  he  said ;  "  my  father  don't  like  it.  He  has  to  see 
patients  to-night;  and  they  can't  bear  the  smell  of  tobacco  by 
their  bedsides." 

The  impatient  youths  waited  with  their  cigar-cases  by  their 
sides.  They  longed  for  the  withdrawal  of  the  obstacle  to  their 
happiness. 

41  He  won't  go,  I  tell  you.  He  '11  be  sent  for,"  growled  Philip 
to  me. 

The  doctor  was  engaged  in  conversation  to  the  right  and  left 
of  him,  and  seemed  not  to  think  of  a  move.  But,  sure  enough,  at 
a  few  minutes  after  ten  o'clock,  Dr.  Firmin's  footman  entered 
the  room  with  a  note,  which  Firmin  opened  and  read,  as  Philip 
looked  at  me,  with  a  grim  humor  in  his  face.  I  think  Phil's 
father  knew  that  we  knew  he  was  acting.  However,  he  went 
through  the  comedy  quite  gravely. 

"A  physician's  time  is  not  his  own,"  he  said,  shaking  his  hand- 
some, melancholy  head.  "  Good-by,  my  dear  lord !  Pray  re- 
member rae  at  home  1  Good-night,  Philip,  my  boy,  and  good- 
speed  to  you  in  your  career  !     Pray,  pray,  don't  move." 

And  he  is  gone,  waving  the  fair  hand  and  the  broad-brimmed 
hat,  with  the  beautiful  white  lining.  Phil  conducted  him  to  the 
door,  and  heaved  a  sigh  as  it  closed  upon  his  father — a  sigh  of 
relief,  I  think,  that  he  was  gone. 


ON    HIS    WAY  THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  73 

"  Exit  governor.  What 's  the  Latin  for  governor  ?"  says  Lord 
Ascot,  who  possessed  much  native  humor,  but  not  very  profound 
scholarship.  "A  most,  venerable  old  parent,  Firmin.  That  hat 
and  appearance  -would  command  any  sum  of  money." 

"  Excuse  me,"  lisps  Rosebury,  "  but  why  did  n't  he  take  his 
elderly  friend  with  him — the  dilapidated  clerical  gentleman  who 
is  drinking  claret  so  freely  ?  And  also,  why  did  he  not  remove 
your  avuncular  orator  ?  Mr.  Twysden,  your  interesting  young 
neophyte  has  provided  us  with  an  excellent  specimen  of  the 
cheerful  produce  of  the  Gascon  grape." 

"  Well,  then,  now  the  old  gentleman  is  gone,  let  us  pass  the 
bottle  and  make  a  night  of  it.  Hey,  my* lord'?"  cries  Twysden. 
"Philip,  your  claret  is  good!  I  say,  do  you  remember  some 
Chateau  Margaux  I  had,  which  Winton  liked  so  V  It  must  be  good 
if  he  praised  it,  I  can  tell  you.  I  imported  it  myself,  and  gave  him 
the  address  of  the  Bordeaux  merchant;  and  he  said  he  had  sel- 
dom tasted  any  like  it.  Those  were  his  very  words.  I  must  get 
you  fellows  to  come  and  taste  it  some  day." 

"  Some  day  !  What  day  ?  Name  it,  generous  Amphitryon  !" 
cries  Rosebury. 

"  Some  day,  at  seven  o'clock.  With  a  plain,  quiet  dinner — a 
clear  soup,  a  bit  offish,  a  couple  of  little  entreVs,  and  a  nice  little 
roast.  That 's  my  kind  of  dinner.  And  we  '11  taste  that  claret, 
young  men.  It  is  not  a  heavy  wine.  It  is  not  a  first-class  wine. 
I  don't  mean  even  to  say  it  is  a  dear  wine,  but  it  has  a  bouquet 
and  a  pureness.     What,  you  will  smoke,  you  fellows?" 

u  We  will  do  it,  Mr.  Twysden.  Better  do  as  the  rest  of  us  do. 
Try  one  of  these." 

The  little  man  accepts  the  proffered  cigar  from  the  young 
nobleman's  box,  lights  it,  hems  and  hawks,  and  lapses  into  silence. 

"  I  thought  that  would  do  for  him,"  murmurs  the  facetious  As- 
cot. "  It  is  strong  enough  to  blow  his  old  head  off,  and  I  wish  it 
would.  That  cigar,''  he  continues,  "  was  given  to  my  father  by 
the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  who  had  it  out  of  the  Queen  of 
Spain's  own  box.  She  smokes  a  good  deal,  but  naturally  likes 
'em  mild.     I  can  give  you  a  stronger  one." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  dare  say  this  is  very  fine.  Thank  you !"  says 
poor  Talbot. 

"  Leave  him  alone,  can't  you  ?"  says  Philip.  "  Don't  make  a 
fool  of  him  before  the  young  men,  Ascot." 

Philip  still  looked  very  dismal  in  the  midst  of  the  festivity.  He 
was  thinking  of  his  differences  with  his  absent  parent. 

We  might  all  have  been  easily  consoled,  if  the  doctor  had  tak- 
en away  with  him  the  elderly  companion  whom  he  had  introduced 
to  Phil's  f'raM.  II  •  COttld  not  have  been  very  welcome  to  our 
host,  for  Phil  scowled  at  his  guest,  and  whispered,  "  Hang  Hunt," 
to  his  neighbor. 

11  Hanc  Hunt" — the  Rev.  Tufton  Hunt  was  his  name — was  in 
7 


74  THK    ADVENTURES    OK    PHILIP 

« 

no  wise  disconcerted  by  the  coolness  of  Lis  reception.  He  drank 
his  wine  very  freely;  addressed  himself  to  his  neighbors  affably ; 
and  called  out  a  loud  "Hear,  hear!"  to  Twysden,  when  that 
gentleman  announced  his  intention  of  making  a  night  of  it.  As 
Mr.  Hunt  warmed  with  wine  he  spoke  to  the  table.  He  talked 
a  great  deal  about  the  Ringwood  family ;  had  been  very  intimate 
at  Wingate,  in  old  days,  as  he  told  Mr.  Twydsen,  and  an  intimate 
friend  of  poor  Cinqbars,  Lord  Ringwood's  only  son.  Now,  the 
memory  of  the  late  Lord  Cinqbars  was  not  an  agreeable  recollec- 
tion to  the  relatives  of  the  house  of  Ringwood.  He  was  in  life  a 
dissipated  and  disreputable  young  lord.  His  name  was  seldom 
mentioned  in  his  family ;  never  by  his  father,  with  whom  he  had 
had  many  quarrels. 

"You  know  I  introduced  Cinqbars  to  your  father,  Philip?" 
calls  out  the  dingy  clergyman.     . 

u  I  have  heard  you  mention  the  fact,"  says  Philip. 

"  They  met  at  a  wine  in  my  rooms  in  Corpus.  Brummell  Fir- 
inin  we  used  to  call  your  father  in  those  days.  He  was  the  great- 
est buck  in  the  university — always,  a  dressy  man,  kept  hunters, 
gave  the  best  dinners  in  Cambridge.  We  were  a  wild  set. 
There  was  Cinqbars,  Brand  Firmin,  Beryl,  Toplady,  about  a 
dozen  of  us,  almost  ncblemen  or  fellow-commoners — fellows  who 
all  kept  their  horses  and  had  their  private  servants." 

This  speech  was  addressed  to  the  company,  who  yet  did  not 
seem  much  edified  by  the  college  recollections  of  the  dingy 
elderly  man. 

"  Almost  all  Trinity  men,  sir  1  We  dined  with  each  other  week 
about.  Many  of  them  had  their  tandems.  Desperate  fellow 
across  country  your  father  was.  And— but  we  won't  tell  tales 
out  of  school,  hey  ?" 

i '_'  No ;  please  don't,  sir,"  said  Philip,  clenching  his  fists  and 
biting  his  lips.  The  shabby,  ill-bred,  swaggering  man  was  eating 
Philip's  salt :  Phil's  lordly  ideas  of  hospitality  did  not  allow  him 
to  quarrel  with  the  guest  under  his  tent, 

"  When  he  went  out  in  medicine  we  were  all  of  us  astonished. 
Why,  sir,  Brand  Firmin,  at  one  time,  was  the  greatest  swell  in 
the  university,"  continued  Mr.  Hunt,  "  and  such^a  plucky  fellow  1 
So  was  poor  Cinqbars,  though  he  had  no  stamina,  He,  I,  and 
Firmin  fought  for  twenty  minutes  before  Caius'  Gate  with  about 
twenty  bargemen,  and  you  should  have  seen  your  father  hit  Out ! 
I  was  a  handy  one  in  those  days,  too;  with  my  fingers.  We 
learned  the  noble  art  of  self-defence  in  my  time,  young  gentle- 
men !  We  used  to  have  Glover,  the  boxer,  down  from  "London, 
who  gave  us  lessons.  Cinqbars  was  a  pretty  sparref— but  no  stam- 
ina. Brandy  killed  him,  sir— brandy  killed  him!  Why,  this  is 
some  of  your  governor's  wine  !  He  and  I  have  been  drinking  it 
to-night  in  Parr  street,  and  talking. over  old  times." 

"  I  ana  glad,  sir,  you  found  the  wine  to  your  taste,"  says  Philip, 
gravely.  J  r 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WOKLDV  75 

"  T  did,  Philip,  my  boy  !  And  when  your  father  said  he  wag 
coming  to  your  wine,  I  said  T  'd  come  too." 

"  I  wish  somebody  would  fling  him  out  of  the  window,"  groaned! 
Philip. 

"  A  most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  senior,"  whispered  Rose- 
bury  to  me.  "  I  read  billiards,  Boulogne,  gambling-houses  in  his 
noble  lineaments.  Has  he  long  adorned  your  family  eircle,  Fir- 
mih  ?" 

"  I  found  him  at  home  about  a  month  ago,  in  my  father's  ante- 
room, in  the  same  clothes,  with  a  pair  of  mangy  rnustaehes  on  his 
face  ;  and  he  has  been  at  our  house  every  day  since." 

u  Echappe  de  Toulon"  says  Rosebury,  blandly,  looking  toward 
the  stranger.  "Cela  se  volt.  Homme  parfaitemeni  distingue. 
You  are  quite  right,  sir.  I  was  speaking  oi' }  ou  ;  and  asking  our 
friend  Philip  where  it  was  L  had  the  honor  of  meeting  you  abroad 
last  year  ?  This  courtesy,"  he  gently  added,  "  will  disarm 
tigers."  \ 

"  T  tvas  abroad,  sir,  last  year,"  said  the  other,  nodding  his  head. 

"  Three  to  one  he.  was  in  Boulogne,  jail,  or  perhaps  officiating 
chaplain  at  a  gambling-house.  Stop,  I  have  it!  Baden  Baden, 
sir  V" 

"  I  was  there,  safe  enough,"  says  the  clergyman.  "  It  is  a 
very  pretty  place  ;  but  the  air  of  the  Apres  kills  you.  Ha  !  ha! 
Your  father  used  to  shake  his  elbow  when  he  was  a  youngster 
too,  Philip!  I  can't  help  calling  you  Philip.  I  've  known  your 
father  these  thirty  years.      We  were  college  chums,  vou  know." 

"  Ah  !  what  would  I  give,"  sighs  Rosebury,  "  if  that  venerable 
being  would  but  address  me  by  my  Christian  name  !  Philip,  do 
something  to  make  your  party  go.  The  old  gentlemen  are 
throttling  it  V  Sing  something,  somebody!  or  let  us  drown  our 
melancholy  in  wine.  You  expressed  your  approbation  of  this 
claret,  sir,  and  claimed  a  previous  acquaintance  with  it?" 

"I've  drunk  two  dozen  of  it  in  the  last  month,"  says  Mr. 
Hunt,  with  a  grin. 

"  Two  dozen  and  four,  sir,"  remarks  Mr.  Brice, putting  afresh 
bottle  on  the  table. 

"Well  said,  Brice!  I  make  the  Firmin  Arms  my  head-quar- 
ters; and  honor  the  landlord  with  a  good  deal  of  my  company," 
remarks  Mr.  Hunt. 

"  The  Firmin  Arms  are  honored  by  having  such  supporters  !" 
says  Phil,  glaring,  and  with  a  heaving  chest.  At  each  moment 
he  was  growing  more  and  more  anofrv  with  that'paison. 

At  a  certain  stage  of  conviviality  Phil  was  fond  of  talking  of 
his  pedigree  ;  and,  though  a  professor  of  very  liberal  opinions, 
was  not  a  little  proud  of  some  of  his  ancestors. 

"  Oh,  come,  1  say  !   Sink  the.  heraldry  !"  cries  Lord  Ascot. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  !  I  would  do  anything  to  oblige,  you,  but  I 
can't  help  being  a  gentleman  !"  growls  Philip. 


76 

THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  Oh,  I  say  !  If  you  intend  to  come  King  Richard  III  over  us — " 
breaks  out  my  lord. 

"  Ascot !  your  ancestors  were  sweeping  counters  when  mine 
stood  by  King  Richard  in  that  righteous  fight !"  shouts. Philip.  • 

That  monarch  had  conferred  lands  upon  the  Ringwood  family. 
Richard  III  was  Philip's  battle-horse  ;  when  he  trotted  it  after 
dinner  he  was  splendid  in  his  chivalry. 

"  Oh,  I  say !  If  you  are  to  saddle  White  Surrey,  fight  Bos- 
worth  Field,  and  murder  the  kids  in  the  Tower  ! '  continues 
Lord  Ascot. 

"  Serve  the  little  brutes  right !"  roars  Phil.  "  They  were  no 
more  heirs  of  the  blood  royal  of  England  than — " 

"  I  dare  say  !  Only  I  'd  rather  have  a  song,  now  the  old  boy  is 
gone.  I  say,  you  fellows,  chant  something,  do  now  !  Bar  all  this 
row  about  Bosworth  Field  and  Richard  the  Third  !  Always  does 
it  when  he  's  beer  on  board — always  does  it,  give  you  my  honor !" 
whispers  the  young  nobleman  to  his  neighbor. 

"I  am  a  fool  !  I  am  a  fool  !"  cries  Phil,  smacking  his  forehead. 
"  There  are  moments  when  the  wrongs  of  mv  race  toill  intervene. 
It's  not  your  fault,  Mr.  What-d'ye-call-'em,  that  you  alluded  to 
my  arms  in  a  derisive  manner.  I  bear  you  no  malice  !  Nay,  I 
ask  your  pardon  !  Nay !  I  pledge  you  in  this  claret,  which  is 
good,  though  it  *s  my  governor's.  In  our  housse  everything  is  n't 
bum — Bosh!  it's  twenty-five  claret,  sir  !  Ascot's  father  gave  him 
a  pipe  of  it  for  saving  a  life  which  might  be  better  spent ;  and  I 
believe  the  apothecary  would  have  pulled  you  through,  Ascot, 
just  as  well  as  my  governor.  But  the  wine 's  good  !  Good !  Brice, 
some  more  claret !  A  song  !  Who  spoke  of  a  song  !  Warble  us 
something,  Tom  Dale  !  A  song,  a  song,  a  song  !" 

Whereupon  the  exquisite  ditty  of  "  Moonlight  on  the  Tiles" 
was  <*iven  by  Tom  Dale  with  all  his  accustomed  humor.  Then 
politeness  demanded  that  our  host  should  sing  one  of  his  songs, 
and  as  I  have  heard  him  perform  it  many  times  I  have  the  privi- 
lege of  here  reprinting  it — premising  that  the  tune  and  chorus 
were  taken  from  a  German  song-book,  which  used  to  delight  us 
melodious  youth  in  by-gone  days.  Philip  accordingly  lifted  up 
his  great  voice  and  sang  : 

DOCTOR  LUTHER. 

"  For  the  souls'  edification 
Of  tins  decent  congregation, 
Wiirthy  peopl»l  by  your  grant, 
1  will  sing  a  holy  chant, 

I  will  sinj;  a  holy  chant. 
Tf  the  ditty  Bound  but  odly, 
'Twas  a  father,  wise  and  godly, 
Sang  it  so  long  ago. 

Then  King  as  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song, 

lie  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  77 

"  He  by  custom  patriarchal, 
Lovecl  to  see  the  beaker  sparkle, 
And  he  thought  the  wine  improved, 
Tasted  by  the  wife  he  loved, 

By  the  kindly  lips  he  loved. 
Friends!   I  wish  this  custom  pioua 
Duly  were  adopted  by  us. 
To  combine  love,  song,  wine  ; 

And  sing  as  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long. 

u  Who  refuses  this  our  credo, 
And  demurs  to  drink  as  we  do, 
Were  ho  holy  as  .T>->hn  Knox, 
I  'd  pronounce  him  heterodox. 

I  'd  pronounce  him  heterodox. 
And  from  out  this  congregation, 
With  a  solemn  commination, 
Banish  quick  the  heretic, 

Who  would  not  sing  as  Luther  sang. 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang. 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,,  and  song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long." 

The  reader's  humble  servant  was  older  than  most  of  the  party 
assembled  at  this  symposium,  which  may  have  taken  place  some 
score  of  years  back  ;  but  as  I  listened  to  the  noise,  the  fresh 
laughter,  the  songs  remembered  out  of  old  university  days,  the 
talk  and  cant  phrases  of  the  old  school  of  which  most  of  us  had 
been  disciples,  dear  me,  I  felt  quite  young  again,  and  when  cer- 
tain knocks  came  to  the  door  about  midnight,  enjoyed  quite  a  re- 
freshing pang  of  anxious  interest  for  a  moment,  deeming  the 
proctors  were  rapping,  having  heard  our  shouts  in  the  court  be- 
low. The  late  comer,  however,  was  only  a  tavern-waiter,  bear- 
ing a  supper-tray ;  and  we  were  free  to  speechify,  shout,  quarrel, 
and  be  as  young  as  we  liked,  with  nobody  to  find  fault,  except, 
perchance,  the  bencher  below,  who,  I  dare  say,  was  kept  awake 
with  our  noise. 

When  that  supper  arrived,  poor  Talbot  Twysden,  who  had 
come  so  far  to  enjoy  it,  was  not  in  a  state  to  partake  of  it.  Lord 
Ascot's  cigar  had  proved  too  much  for  him  :  and  the  worthy  gen- 
tleman had  been  lying  on  a  sofa,  in  a  neighboring  room,  for  some 
time  past,  in  a  state  of  hopeless  collapse.  He  had  told  us,  while 
yet  capable  of  speech,  what  a  love  and  regard  he  had  for  Philip ; 
but  between  him  and  Philip's  father  there  was  but  little  love. 
They  had  had  that  worst  and  most  irremediable  of  quarrels,  a 
difference  about  two-pence  half-penny  in  the  division  of  the 
property  of  their  late  father-in-law.  Firmin  still  thought  Twys- 
den a  shabby  curmudgeon;  and  Twysden  considered  Firmin  an 
unprincipled  man.  When  Mrs.  Firmin  was  alive  the  two  poor 
sisters  had  had  to  regulate  their  affections  by  the  marital  orders, 
and  to  be  warm,  cool,  moderate,  freezing,  according  to  their  hus- 
bands' state  for  the  time  being.     I  wonder  are  there,  many  real 


78  TliK     AJ)VENllKE8    OF    PHILIP 

reconciliations?  l)e:\v  Tomkins  and  I  are  reconciled,  I  know. 
We  have  met  and  dined  at  Jones'.  And  ah  !  how  fond  we  are 
of  each  other  !  Oh,  very  !  So  with  Firmin  and  Twysdeii.  They 
met  and  shook  hands  with  perfect  animosity.  So  did  Twysden 
junior  and  Firmin  junior.  Young  Twysden  was  the  elder,  and 
thrashed  and  bullied  Phil  as  a  boy,  until  the  latter  arose  and 
pitched  his  cousin  down  stairs.  Mentally,  they  were  always 
kicking  each  other  down  stairs.  Well,  poor  Talbot  could  "hot 
partake,  of  the  sapper  when  it  came,  and  lay  in  a  piteous  state 
on  the  neighboring  sofa  of  the  absent  Mr.  Van  John. 

Who  would  go.  home  with  him,  where  his  wife  must  be  anxious 
about  him  ?  T  agreed  to  convoy  him,  and  the  parson  said  he  was 
going  our  way,  and  would  accompany  us.  We  supported  this 
senior  through  the  Temple,  and  put  him  on  the  front  seat  of  a 
cab.  The  cigar  had  disgracefully  overcome  him;  and  any  lect- 
urer  on  the  evils  of  smoking  might  have  pointed  his  moral  on 
the  helpless  person  of  this  wretched  gentleman.  ' 

The  evening's  feasting  had  only  imparted  animation  to  Mr. 
Hunt,  and  occasioned  an  agreeable  -abandon  in  his  talk.  I  had 
seen  the  man  before  in  Dr.  Firming  house,  and  own  that  his  so- 
ciety was  almost  as  odious  to  me  as  to  the  doctor's  son  Philip. 
On  all  subjects  and  persons  Phil  was  accustomed  to  speak  his 
mind  out  a  great  deal  too  openly ;  and  Mr.  Hunt  had  been  an 
object  of  special  dislike  to  him  ever  since  he  had  known  Hunt. 
1  tried  to  make  the  best  of  the  matter.  Few  men  of  kindly  feel- 
ing and  good  station  are  without  a  dependent  or  two.  Men 
start  together  in  the  race  of  life  ;  and  Jack  wins,  and  Tom  falls 
by  his  side.  The  successful  man  sucCors  and  reaches  a  friendly 
hand  to  the  unfortunate  competitor.  Remembrance  of  early 
times  gives  the  latter  a  sort  of  right  to  call  on  his  luckier  com- 
rade ;  and  a  man  finds  himself  pitying,  then  enduring,  then  em- 
bracing a  companion  for  whom,  in  old  days,  perhaps,  he  never 
had  had  any  regard  or  esteem.  A  prosperous  man  ought  to  have 
ibllowers;  if  he  has  none,  he  has  a  hard  heart. 

This  philosophizing  was  all  very  well.  It  was  good  for  a  man 
not  to  desert  the  friends  of  his  boyhood.  But  to  live  with  such 
a  cad  as  that — with  that  creature,  low,  servile,  swaggering,  be- 
sotted— "  How  could  his  father,  who  had  fine  tastes! """and  loved, 
grand  company,  put  up  with  such  a  fellow?"  asked  Phil.  "I 
don't  know  when  the  man  is  the  more  odious,  when  he  is  famil- 
iar or  wfcen  he  is  respectful;  when  he  is  paying  compliments  to 
my  father's  guests  in  Parr  street,  or  telling  hideous  old  stale 
stories,  as  he  did  at  my  call-supper." 

The  wine  of  which  Mr.  Hunt  freely  partook  on  that  occasion 
made  him,  as  I  have,  said,  communicative.  "  Not  a  bad  fellow, 
our  host,"  be  remarked,  on  his  part,  when  we  came  away  to- 
gether. "  Bumptious,  good-looking,  speaks  his  mind,  hates  me, 
and  1  don't  care.  He  must  be  well-to-do  in  the  world,  Master 
Philip." 


on  Mia  way.  Through  thk  world.  79 

I  said  I  hoped  afrflj  thought  so.  - 

u  Brnmmell  Ffrmin  must  mnke  four  or  five  thousand  a  year. 
He  was  a  wild  fellow  in  my  time,  I  can  tell  you — in  the  days  of 
the  wild  Prince  and  Foyns — stuck  at  nothing,  spent  his  own 
money,  ruined  himself,  fell  on  his  legs  somehow,  and  married  a 
fortune.  Some  of  us  have  not  been  so  lucky.  I  had  nobody  to 
pay  my.  debts.  I  missed  my  fellowship  by  idling  and  dissipating 
with  those  confounded  hats  and  silver-laced  gowns.  I  liked 
good  company  in  those  days — always  did  when  I  could  get  it. 
If  you  were  to  write  my  adventures  now,  you  would  have  to  tell 
some  queer  stories.  I've  been  everywhere;  I've  seen  high 
and  low — 'specially  low.  I  've  tried  schoohnastering,  bear- 
leading,  newspapering,  America,  West  Indies.  I  've  been  in 
every  city  in  Europe.  I  have  n't  been  as  lucky  as  Brummcll 
Firmin.  He  rolls  in  his  coach,  he  does,  and  I  walk  in  my  high- 
lows.  Guineas  drop  into  his  palm  every  day,  and  ate  uncom- 
monly scarce  in  mine,  I  can  tell  you  ;  and  poor  old  Tuft  on  Hunt 
is  not  much  better  off  at  fifty  odd  than  he  was  when  he  was  an 
undergraduate  at  eighteen.  How  do  you  do,  old  gentleman  ? 
Air  do  you  good  V  Here  we  are  at  Beaunash  street;  hope 
you  've  got  the  key,  and  missis  won't  see  you."  A  large  butler, 
too  well-bred  to  express  astonishment  at  any  event  which  oc- 
curred out  of  doors,  opened  Mr.  Twysden's  and  let  in  that  la- 
mentable gentleman.  Pie  was  very  pale  and  solemn.  He 
gasped  out  a  few  words,  intimating  his  intention  to  fix  a  day  to 
ask  us  to  come  and  dine  soon,  and  taste  that  wine  that  Winton 
liked  so.  He  waved  an  unsteady  hand  to  us.  If  Mrs.  Twysden 
was  on  the.  stairs  to  see  the  condition  of  her  lord,  I  hope  she 
took  possession  of  the  candle.  Hunt  grumbled  as  we  came  out: 
ki  He  might  have  offered  us  some  refreshment  after  bringing  him 
all  that  way  home.  It 's  only  half-past  one.  There  's  no  good 
in  going  to  bed  so  soon  as  that.  Let  us  go  and  have  a  drink 
somewhere.  I  know  a  very  good  crib  close  by.  No,  you  won't  ? 
I  say  "  (here  he  burst  into  a  laugh  which  startled  the  sleeping 
street),  "  I  know  what  you  ve  been  thinking  all  the  time  in  the 
cab.  You  are  a  swell — you  are,  too!  You  have  been  thinking, 
i  This  dreary  old  parson  will  try  and  borrow  money  from  me.' 
But  I  won't,  my  boy.  I've  got  a  banker.  Look  here!  Fee. 
taw,  fum.  You  understand.  I  can  get  the  sovereigns  out  of 
my  medical  swell  in  Old  Parr  street.  I  prescribe  bleeding  for 
him — I  drew  him  to-night.  He  is  a  very  kind  fellow,  Brummell 
Firmin  is.  He  can't  deny  such  a  dear  old  friend  anything. 
Bless  him  I"  And  as  he  turned  away  to  some  midnight  haunt  of 
his  own,  he  tossed  up  his  hand  in  the  air.  I  heard  him  laughing 
through  the  silent  street,  and  policeman  X,  tramping  on  his 
beat,  ruined  round  and  suspiciously  eyed  him. 

Then  I  thought  of  Dr.  Firmin  \s  dark,  melancholy  face  and 
eyes.     Was  a  benevolent  remembrance  of  old  times  the  bond  of 


80  THE   ADVENTURES    OP   PHILIP 

union  between  these  men  ?  All  my  house  had  long  been  asleep 
when  I  opened  and  gently  closed  my  house  door.  By  the  twink- 
ling night-lamp  I  could  dimly  see  child  and  mother  softly  breath- 
ing. Oh,  blessed  they  on  whose  pillow  no  remorse  sits !  Happy 
you  who  have  escaped  temptation  ! 

I  may  have  been  encouraged  in  my  suspicions  of  the  dingy 
clergyman  by  Philip's  own  surmises  regarding  him,  which  were 
expressed  with  the  speaker's  usual  candor.  "  The  fellow  calls 
for  what  he  likes  at  the  Firmin  Arms,"  said  poor  Phil ;  "  and 
when  my  father's  bigwigs  assemble  I  hope  the  reverend  gentle- 
man dines  with  them.  I  should  like  to  see  him  hobnobbing 
with  old  Bumpsher,  or  slapping  the  bishop  on  the  back.  He 
lives  in  Sligo  street,  round  the  corner,  so  as  to  be  close  to  our 
house  and  yet  preserve  his  own  elegant  independence.  Other- 
wise, I  wonder  he  has  not  installed  himself  in  Old  Parr  street, 
where  my  poor  mother's  bedi'oom  is  vacant.  The  doctor  does 
not  care  to  use  that  room.  I  remember  now  how  silent  they 
were  when  together,  and  how  terrified  she  always  seemed  be- 
fore him.  What  has  he  done  ?  ]  know  of  one  affair  in  his  early 
life.  Does  this  Hunt  know  of  any  more  V  They  have  been  ac- 
complices in  some  conspiracy,  sir ;  I  dare  say  with  that  young 
Cinqbars  of  whom  Hunt  is  for  ever  bragging — the  worthy  son 
of  the  worthy  Ringwood.  I  say,  does  wickedness  run  in  the 
blood?  My  grandfathers,  I  have  heard,  were  honest  men.  Per- 
haps they  were  only  not  found  out ;  and  the  family  taint  will 
show  in  me  some  day.  There  are  times  when  I  feel  the  devil 
so  strong  within  me  that  I  think  some  day  he  must  have  the 
mastery.  1  'm  not  quite  bad  yet;  but  I  tremble  lest  I  should  go. 
Suppose  I  were  to  drown,  and  go  down  ?  It 's  not  a  jolly  thing, 
Pendennis,  to  have  such  a  father  as  mine.  Don't  humbug  me 
with  your  charitable  palliations  and  soothing  surmises.  You 
put  me  in  mind  of  the  world  then,  by  Jove,  you  do  !  I  laugh, 
and  J  diink,  and  I  make  merry,  and  sing,  and  smoke  endless 
tobacco;  and  I  tell  you  I  always  feel  as  if  a  little  sword  was 
dangling  over  my  skull  which  will  fall  some  day  and  split  it. 
Old  Parr  street  is  mined,  sir — mined  !  And  some  morning  we 
shall  be  blown  into  blazes — into  blazes,  sir ;  mark  my  words  ! 
That 's  why  I  'm  so  careless  and  so  idle,  for  which  you  fellows 
are  always  bothering  and  scolding  me.  There  's  no  use  in  set- 
tling down  until  the  explosion  is  over, -don't  you  see  ?  Incedo 
per  ignea  suppositoa,  and,  by  George!  sir,  I  feel  my  boot  soles 
already  scorching.  Poor  thing!  poor  mother"  (he  apostro- 
phized his  mother's  picture,  which  hung  in  the  room  where  we 
were  talking).  ;<  were  you  aware  of  the  secret,  and  was  it  the 
knowledge  of  that  .which  made  your  poor  eyes  always  look  so 
frightened?  She  was  always  fond  of  you,  Pen.  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  pretty  and  graceful  she  used  to  look  as  she*  lay  on  her 
sofa  up  stairs,  or  smiled   out  of  her  carriage  as  she  kissed  her 


ON    HIS    WAY    TI1I10UGII    THE    WORLD.  81 

hand  to  us  boys  ?  I  say,  what  if  a  woman  marries,  and  is  coaxod 
and  wheedled  by  a  soft  tongue,  and  runs  off,  and  afterward  finds 
her  husband  has  a  cloven  foot  ?" 

"  Ah,  Philip !" 

"  What  is  to  be  the  lot  of  the  son  of  such  a  man?  Is  my  hoof 
cloven,  too?"  It  was  on  the  stove,  as  he  talked,  extended  in 
American  fashion.  u  Suppose  there  's  no  escape  for  me,  and  I 
inherit  my  doom,  as  another  man  does  gout  or  consumption  ? 
Knowing  this  fate,  what  is  the  use,  then,  of  doing  anything  in 
particular  ?  I  tell  you,  sir,  the  whole  edifice  of  our  present  life 
will  crumble  in  and  smash."  (Here  he  flings  his  pipe  to  the 
ground  with  an  awful  shatter!)  "  And  until  the  catastrophe 
comes,  what,  on  earth  is  the  use  of  setting  to  work,  as  you  call 
it  ?  You  might  as  well  have  told  a  fellow  at  Pompeii  to  select  a 
profession  the  day  before  the  eruption." 

44  If  you  know  that  Vesuvius  is  going  to  burst  over  Pompeii," 
I  said,  somewhat  alarmed,  "  why  not  go  to  Naples,  or  farther,  if 
you  will  ? ' 

"  Were  there  not  men  in  the  sentry-boxes  at  the  city  gates," 
asked  Philip,  "  who  might  have  run,  and  yet  remained  to  be 
burned  there  ?  Suppose,  after  all,  the  doom  is  n't  hanging  over 
us,  and  the  fear  of  it  is  ouly  a  nervous  terror  of  mine  ?  Suppose 
it  comes,  and  I  survive  it  ?  The  risk  of  the  game  gives  a  zest  to 
it,  old  boy.  Besides,  there  is  Honor ;  and  some  One  Else  is  in 
the  case,  from  whom  a  man  could  not  part  in  an  hour  of  danger." 
And  here  he  blushed  a  fine  red,  heaved  a  great  sigh,  and  emp- 
tied a  bumper  of  claret. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WILL  BE  PRONOUNCED  TO  BE  CYNICAL  BY  THE  BENEVOLENT. 

Gentle  readers  will  not,  I  trust,  think  the  worse  of  their  most 
obedient,  humble  servant  for  the  confession  that  I  talked  to  my 
wife,  on  my  return  home,  regarding  Philip  aud  his  affairs. 
When  I  choose  to.De  frank,  I  hope  no  man  can  be  more  open 
thau  myself :  when  I  have  a  mind  to  be  quiet,  no  fish  can  be 
more  mute.  I  have  kept  secrets  so  ineffably  that  I  have  utterly 
forgotten  them  until  my  memory  was  refreshed  by  people  who 
also  knew  them.  But  what  was  the  use  of  hiding  this  one  from 
the  being  to  whom  I  open  all,  or  almost  all — say  all  excepting 
just  one  or  two — of  the  closets  of  this  heart  ?  So  I  say  to  her, 
44  My  love,  it  is  as  I  suspected.  Philip  and  his  cousin  Agnes  are 
carrying  on  together." 

44 Ja  Agnes  the  pale  one,  or  the  very  pale  one?"  asks  the  joy 
of  mv  existen 

8 


82  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PIIILTP 

44  No,  the  elder  is  Blanche.  They  are  both  older  than  Mr. 
Firmin  :  but  Blanche  is  the  elder  of  the  two." 

4'  \yell,  J  am  not  saying  anything  malicious,  or  contrary  to 
the  fact,  am  I,  sir?" 

"  No.  Only  I  know  by  her  looks,  when  another  lady's  name 
is  mentioned,  whether  my  wife  likes  her  or  not.  And  I  am 
bound  to  say,  though  this  statement  may  meet  with,  a  denial, 
that  her  countenance  does  not  vouchsafe  smiles  at  the  meuiion 
of  all  ladies'  names." 

"  Yon  don't,  go  to  the  house  ?  You  and  Mrs.  Twysden  have 
called  on  each  other,  and  there  the*  matter  has  stopped?  Oh,  I 
know  !  It  is  because  poor  Talbot  brags  so  about  his  wine,  and 
gives  sncfi  abominable  stuff",  that  you  have  such  an  unchristian 
feeling  tor  him  !" 

41  That  is  the  reason,  T  dare  say,"  says  the  lady. 

"  No.  It  is  no  such  thing.  Though  you  do  know  sherry  from 
port,  I  believe,  upon  my  conscience  you  do  not  avoid  the  Tws- 
dens  because  they  give  bad  wine.  Many  others  sin  in  that  way, 
and  you  forgive  them.  You  like  your  feliow-creatures  better 
than  wine — some  fellow-creatures — and  you  dislike  some  fellow- 
creatures  worse  than  medicine.  You  swallow  them,  Madam. 
You  say  nothing,  but  your  looks  are  dreadful.  You  make  wry 
faces :  and  when  you  have  taken  them  you  want  a  piece  of 
sweetmeat  to  take  the  taste  out  of  your  mouth." 

The  lady,  thus  wittily  addressed,  shrugs  her  lovely  shoulders. 
My  wife  exasperates  me  in  many  things;  in  getting  up  at  in- 
sane hours  to  go  to  early  church,  for  instance  ;  in  looking  at  me 
in  a  particular  way  at  dinner,  when  I  am  about  to  eat  one  of 
those  entrees  which  Dr.  Goodenough  declares  disagree  with  me  ; 
in  nothing  more  than  in  that  obstinate  silence  which  she  persists 
in  maintaining  sometimes  when  I  am  abusing  people  whom  I  do 
not  like,  whom  she  does  not  like,  and  who  abuse  me.  This  reti- 
cence makes  me  wild.  What  confidence  can  there  be  between 
a  man  and  his  wife  if  he  can't  say  to  her,  u  Confound  So-and-So, 
I  hate,  him  !"  or,  "  What  a  prig  What-d'-you-ca!l-em  is  !"  or, 
44  What  a  bloated  aristocrat  Thingamy  has  become  since  he  got 
his  place  !"  or  what  you  will. 

44  No,"  I  continue,  4t  1  "know  why  yon  hate  the  Twysdens,  Mrs. 
Pendennis.  Yrou  hate  them  because  they  move  in  a  world 
which  you  can  only  occasionally  visit.  You  envy  them  because 
they  are  hand  in  glove  with  the  great  :  because  thev  possess  an 
easy  grace",  and  a  frank  and  noble  elegance  with  which  com- 
mon country  people  and  apothecaries'  sons  are  not  endowed." 

44  My  dear  Arthur,  I  do  think  you  arc  ashamed  of  being  an 
apothecary's  son.  You  talk  about  it  so  often,"  says  the  lady. 
Which  was  all  very  well:  but  you  see  she  was  not  answering 
my  remarks  about  the  Twysdens. 

44  You  are  right,  my  dear,"  I  say  then.  44 1  ought  not  to  ba 
ccnsorii    •  -  >- :' 


OX    HIS    WAV   THROUGH    THE    WOULD.  S3 

"I  know  people  abuse  y»U,  Arthur;  but  I  think  you  area 
very  good  sort  of  man,"  says  the  lady,  over  her  little  tea-tray. 

uAnd  so  are  the  Twysdens  very  good  people — very  niee,  art- 
less, unselfish,  simple,  generous",  well-bred  people.  Mr.  Twys- 
den  is  all  heart  :  Twysden's  conversational  po\vers  are  remark- 
able and  pleasing:  and  Philip  is  eminently  fortunate  in  getting 
one  of  those  charming  girls  for  a  wife." 

u  I  've  no  patience  with  them,"  cries  my  wife,  losing  that 
quality  to  my  great  satisfaction  :  for  then  I  knew  I  had  found 
the  crack  in  Madam  Pendennis'  armor  of  steel,  and  had  smitten 
her  in   a  vulnerable  little  place. 

"  No  patience  with  them  ?  Quiet,  lady-like  young  women  !" 
1  cry. 

uAh  !"  sighs  my  wife,  "  what  have  they  got  to  give  Philip  in 
return  for — " 

"In  return  for  his  thirty  thousand?  They  will  have  ten 
thousand  pounds  apieee  when  their  mother  dies." 

"  Oh!  1  would  n't  have  our  boy  marry  a  woman  like  one  of 
those,  not  if  she  had  a  million.  I  would  n't,  my  child  and  my 
blessing  !"  (This  is  addressed  to  a  little  darling  who  happens 
to  be  eating  sweet  cakes,  in  a  high  chair,  off  the  little  table  by 
his  mother's  side,  and  who,  though  he  certainly  used  to  cry  a 
good  deal  at  the  period,  shall  be  a  mute  personage  in  this  his- 
tory.) 

"  You  are  alluding  to  Blanche's  little  affair  with — " 

'*  No,  I  am  not,  sir  !'' 

"  How  do  you  know  which  one  I  meant,  then  ?  Or  that  noto- 
rious disappointment  of  Agnes,  when  Lord  Farintosh  became  a 
widower?  If  he  wouhd  n't,  she  could  n't,  you  know,  my  dear. 
And  I  am  sure  she  tried  her    best :  at  least  everybody  said  so." 

"Ah  !  I  have  no  patience  with  the  way  in  which  you  people 
of  the  world  treat  the  most  sacred  of  subjects — the  most  sacred, 
sir.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  Is  a  woman's  love  to  be  pledged  and 
withdrawn  every  day  ?  Is  her  faith  and  purity  only  to  be  a 
matter  of  barter,  and  rank,  and  social  consideration  ?  I  am  sor- 
ry, because  I  don't  wish  to  see  Philip,  who  is  good,  and  honest, 
and  generous,  and  true  as  yet — however  great  his  faults  may  be 
— because  I  don't  wish  to  see  him  given  up  to — Oil  1  it  's  shock- 
ing, shocking  !'* 

Given  up  to  what  ?  to  any  thing  dreadful  in  this  world,  or 
the  next?  Don't  imagine  that  Philip's  relations  thought  they 
were  doing  Phil  any  harm  by  condescending  to  marry  him,  or 
themselves  any  injury.  A  doctor's  son,  indeed  !  Why,  the 
Twysdens  were  far  better  placed- in  the  world  than  their  kins- 
men of  Old  Parr  street;  and  went  to  better  houses.  The  year's 
levee  and  dravin ifr-mom  would  have  been  incomplete  without 
Mr.  and  .Mrs.  Twysden.  There  might  be  families  with  higher 
titles,  more  wealth,  higher  positions  |  but  the  world  did  not  con- 


84  TFIK    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

tain  more  respectable  folks  than  the  Twysden3 :  of  this  every 
one  of  the  family  was  convinced,  from  Talbot  himself  down  to 
his  heir.  If  somebody  or  some  body  of  savans  would  write  the 
history  of  the  harm  that  has  been  done  in  the  world  by  people 
who  believe  themselves  to  be  virtuous,  what  a  queer,  edifying 
book  it  would  be,  and  how  poor  oppressed  rogues  might  look 
up  !  Who  burns  the  Protestants  V — the  virtuous  Catholics,  to 
be  sure.  Who  roasts  the  Catholics  ? — the  virtuous  Reformers. 
Who  thinks  I  am  a  dangerous  character,  and  avoids  me  at  the 
club? — the  virtuous  Squarctoes.  Who  scorns  ?  who  persecutes? 
who  does  n't  forgive  ? — the  virtuous  Mrs.  Grundy.  She  remem- 
bers her  neighbor's  pecadilloes  to  the  third  and  fourth  genera- 
tion; and  if  "she  finds  a  certain  man  fallen  in  her  path,  gathers 
up  her  affrighted  garments  with  a  shriek,  for  fear  the  muddy, 
bleeding  wretch  should  contaminate  her,  and  passes  on. 

I  do  not  seek  to  create  even  surprises  in  this  modest  history, 
or  condescend  to  keep  candid  readers  in  suspense  about  many 
matters  which  might  possibly  interest  them.  For  instance,  the 
matter  of  love  has  interested  novel-readers  for  hundreds  of  years 
past,  and  doubtless  will  continue  so  to  interest  them.  Almost 
all  young  people  read  love  books  and  histories  with  eagerness, 
as  oldsters  read  books  of  medicine,  and  whatever  it  is — heart 
complaint,  gout,  liver,  palsy — cry,  "  Exactly  so,  precisely  my 
case  !"  Phil's  first  love  affair,  to  which  we  are  now  coming, 
was  a  false  start.  I  own  it  at  once.  And  in  this  commence- 
ment of  his  career  I  believe  he  was  not  more  or  less  fortunate 
than  many  and  many  a  man  and  woman  iu  this  world.  Sup- 
pose the  course  of  true  love  always  did  run  smooth,  and  every- 
body married  his  or  her  first  love.  Ah !  what  would  marriage 
be? 

A  generous  young  fellow  comes  to  market  with  a  heart  ready 
to  leap  out  of  his  waistcoat,  for  ever  thumping  and  throbbing, 
and  so  wild  that  he  can't  have  any  rest  till  he  has  disposed  of  life 
What  wonder  if  he  falls  upon  a  wily  merchant  in  Vanity  Fair, 
and  barters  his  all  for  a  stale  bauble  not  worth  sixpence?-  Phil 
chose  to  fall  in  love  with  his  cousin ;  and  I  warn  you  that  noth- 
ing will  come  of  that  passion,  except  the  influence  which  it  had 
upon  the  young  man's  character.  Though  my  wife  did  not  love 
the  Twysdens,  she  loves  sentiment,  she  loves  love  affairs — all 
women  do.  Poor  Phil  used  to  bore  me  after  dinner  with  end- 
less rhodomontades  about  his  passion  and  his  charmer ;  but  my 
wife  was  never  tired  of  listening.  "  You  are  a  selfish,  heartless 
blase  man  of  the  world,  you  are,"  he  would  say.  "Your  own 
immense  and  undeserved  good  fortune  in  the  matrimonial  lot- 
tery has  rendered  you  hard,  cold,  cross,  indifferent.  You  have 
been  asleep,  sir,  twice  to-night,  while  I  was»talking.  I  will  go 
up  and  tell  Madam  everything.  She  has  a  heart."  And  pres- 
ently, engaged  with  my  book  or  my  after-dinner  doze,  I  would 


ON    Hlfe    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  S€ 

hear  Phil  striding  and  creaking  overhead,  and  plunging  ener- 
getic pokers  in  the  drawing-room  fire. 

Thirty  thousand  pounds  to  begin  with ;  a  third  part  of  that 
sum  coming  to  the  lady  from  her  mother  ;  all  the  doctor's  savings 
and  property ;  here  certainly  was  enough  in  possession  and  ex- 
pectation to  satisfy  many  young  couples  ;  and  as  Phil  is  twenty- 
two,  and  Agnes  (must  I  own  it  V)  twenty-five,  and  as  she  has 
consented  to  listen  to  the  warm  outpourings  of  the  eloquent 
and  passionate  youth,  and  exchange  for  his  fresh,  new-minted, 
golden  sovereign  heart,  that  used  little  threepenny-piece,  her 
own — why  should  they  not  marry  at  once,  and  so  let  us  have  an 
end  of  them  and  this  history  ?  They  have  plenty  of  money  to 
pay  the  parson  and  the  post-chaise ;  they  may  drive  off  to  the 
country,  and  live  on  their  means,  and  lead  an  existence  so  hum- 
drum and  tolerably  happy  that  Phil  may  grow  quite  too  fat,  lazy, 
and  unfit  for  his  present  post  of  hero  of  a  novel.  But,  stay — 
there  are  obstacles;  coy,  reluctant,  amorous  delays.  After  all, 
Philip  is  a  dear,  brave,  handsome,  wild,  reckless,  blundering  boy, 
treading  upon  everybody's  dress  skirts,  smashing  the  little 
Dresden  ornaments,  and  the  pretty  little  decorous  gimcracks  of 
society,  life,  conversation — but  there  is  time  yet.  Are  you  so 
very  sure  about  that  money  of  his  mother's  ?  and  how  is  it  that 
his  father  the  doctor  has  not  settled  accounts  with  him  yet? 
C'est  louche.  A  family  of  high  position  and  principle  must  look 
to  have  the  money  matters  in  perfect  order,  before  they  consign 
a  darling  accustomed  to  every  luxury  to  the  guardianship  of  a 
confessedly  wild  and  eccentric,  though  generous  and  amiable, 
young  man.     Besides — ah!  besides — besides! 

"It's  horrible,   Arthur!     It's  cruel,   Arthur!     It's   a 

shame  to  judge  a  woman,  or  Christian  people  so  !  Oh,  my  loves  ! 
my  blessings?  would  I  sell  you  V  says  this  young  mother,  clutch- 
ing a  little  belaced,  befurbelowed  being  to  her  heart,  infantine, 
squalling,  with  blue  shoulder-ribbons,  a  mottled  little  arm  that 
has  just  been  vaccinated,  and  the  sweetest  red  shoes.  u  Would  I 
sell  you  V  says  mamma.  Little  Arty,  I  say,  squalls ;  and  little 
Nelly  looks  up  from  her  bricks  with  a  wondering,  whimpering 
expression. 

Well,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  what  the  "besides"  is;  but  the 
fact  is  that  young  Woolcomb,  of  the  Life  Guards  Green,  who 
has  inherited  immense  West  India  property,  and,  we  will  say, 
just  a  teaspoonful  of  that  dark  blood  which  makes  a  man  natu- 
rally partial  to  blonde  beauties,  has  cast  his  opal  eyes  very 
warmly  upon  the  golden-haired  Agnes  of  late  ;  has  danced  with 
her  not  a  little  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Twysden's  barouche  appears  by 
the  Serpentine,  you  may  not  unfrequently  see  a  pair  of  the  neat- 
est little  yellow  kid  gloves  just  playing  with  the  reins,  a  pair  of 
the  prettiest  little  boots  just  touching  the  stirrup,  a  magnificent 
horse  dancing,  and  tittupping,  and  tossing,  and  performing  the 


;    .  .  01     l'Mil.n: 

most  graceful  caracoles  and  gambadoes,  and  on  the  magnificent 
a  neat  little  man  with  a  blazing  red  flower  in  Ins  bosom, 
and  glancing  opal  eyes,  and  a  dark  complexion,  and  hair  so  very 
black  and  curly,  that  I  really  almost  think  in  some  of  the,  South- 
ern States  of  America  he  would  be  likely  to  meet  with  rudeness 
in  a  railway  car. 

But  in  England  we  know  better.  In  England  Grenville 
Woolcomb  is  a  man  and  a  brother.  Half  of  Arrowroot  island, 
they  say,. belongs  to  him  ;  besides  Mangrove  Hall,  in  Hertford- 
shire; ever  so  much  property  in  other  counties;  and  that  hue 
house  in  Berkeley  Square,  lie  is  called  the  Black  Prince  be- 
hind the  scenes  oi'many  theatres;  ladies  nod  at  him  from  those 
brou shams  which,  you  understand,  need  not  be  particularized. 
The  idea  of  his  immense  riches  is  confirmed  by  the  known  fact 
that  he  is  a  stingy  Black  Prince,  and  most  averse  to  parting  with 
his  money  except  for  his  own  adornment  or  amusement.  When 
he  receives  at  his  country  house  his  entertainments  are,  however, 
splendid.  He  has  been  flattered,  followed,  caressed  all  his  life, 
and  allowed,  by  a  fond  mother,  to  have  his  own  way ;  and  as 
this  has  never  led  him  to  learning,  it  must  be  owned  that  his 
literary  acquirements  are  small,  and  his  writing  defective.  But 
in  the  management  of  his  pecuniary  affairs  he  is  very  keen  and 
clever.  His  horses  cost  him  less  than  any  young  man's  in  Eng- 
land who  is  so  well  mounted.  No  dealer  has  ever  been  known 
to  get  the  better  of  him  ;  and,  though  he  is  certainly  close  about 
money,  when  his  wishes  have  very  keenly  prompted  him,  no 
sum  has  been  known  to  stand  in  his  way. 

Witness  the  purchase  of  the —  .But  never  mind  scandal.  Let 
by-gones  be  by-gones.  A  young  doctor's  son,  with  a  thousand  a 
year  for  a  fortune,  may  be  considered  a  catch  in  some  circles, 
but  not,  votes  concevez,  in  the  upper  regions  of  society.  And 
dear  woman — dear,  angelic,  highly-accomplished,  respectable 
woman — does  she  not  know  how  to  pardon  many  failings  in  our 
sex  ?  Age  ?  pshaw  !  She  will  crown  my  bare  old  poll  with  the 
roses  of  her  youth!.  Complexion?  What  contrast  is  sweeter 
and  more  touching  than  Desdemona's  golden  ringlets  on  swart 
Othello's  shoulder  ?  A  past  life  of  selfishness  and  bad  company  ? 
Come  out  from  among  the  swine,  my  prodigal,  and  I  will  purify 
thee  !  ,   ' 

This  is  what  is  called  cynicism,  you  know.  Then  I  suppose 
my  wife  is  a  cynic,  who  clutches  her  children  to  her  pure  heart, 
and  prays  gracious  Heaven  to  guard  them  from  selfishness,  from 
worldliuess,  from  heartlessness,  from  wicked  greed. 


on   ma  \\  a v.    uiuix  <■!(    iiii-.  wuisi.D.  s; 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CONTAINS     ONE     IUDDLE     WHICH     IS  '  SOLVED,    AND     PERHAPS 

OME    MDl'K. 

Mine  is  a  modest  muse,  and  as  the  period  of  the  story  arrive! 
when  a  description  of  Love-making  ia justly  due,  my  Mnemosyne 
turns  away  from  the  young  couple,  drops  a  little  curtain  over 
the  embrasure  where  they  are  whispering,  heaves  a  sigh  from 
her  elderly  bosom,  and  lays  a  finger  on  her  lip.  Ah,  Mnemosyne, 
dear!  we  will  not  be  spies  on  the  young  people,.  We  will  not 
scold  them.  We  won't  talk  about  their  doings  much.  \Vjicii 
we  were  young,  we  too,  perhaps,  were  taken  in  under  Love's 
tent;  we  have  eaten  of  his  salt,  and  partaken  of  his  bitterj  his 
delicious  bread,  Now  we  are  padding  the  hoof  lon'ely  in  the  wil- 
derness we  Avill  not  abuse- our  host,  will  we?  We  will  couch 
under  the  stats,  and  think  fondly  of  old  times,  and  to-morrow  re- 
sume the  staff  and  the  journey. 

And  yet.  if  a  novelist  niay  chroniolo  any  passion — its  flames, 
it*  raptures,  its  whispers  its  assignations,  its  sonnets,  its  quarrels* 
sulks,  reconciliations,  and  so  oa — the  history  of  such  a  love  as 
this  first  of  Phii's  may  be  excusable  in  print,  because  I  don't  be- 
lieve it  was.a  real  love  al  all,  only  a  little  brief  delusion  of  the 
senses,  from  which'  I  give  you  warning  that  our  hero  will  recover 
before  many  chapters  .are  over.  What!  my  brave  boy,  shall  we 
give  your  heart  away  for  good  and-all,  for  better  or  for  worse, 
till  de  itli  do  yon  part  V  What  !  my  Cory  don  and  sighing  swain, 
shall  we  irrevocably  bestow  you  upon  Phyllis,  who,  all  the  time 
you  are  piping  and  pajdng  court  to  her,  has  Mclihoeus  in  the  cup- 
board, and  ready  to  be  produced  should  he  prove  to  be  a  more 
eligible  shepherd  than  t'  other?  I  am  not  such  a  savage  toward 
my  readers  or  hero  as  to  make  them  undergo  tfie  misery  of  such 
a  marrie. 

Philip  was  very  little  of  a  club  or  society  man.  lie  seldom  or 
ever  entered  the  Megatherium,  or  when  there  stared  and  scowled 
round  him  savagely,  and  laughed  strangely  at  the  ways  of  the 
inhabitant.-'.  He  made  but  a  clumsy  figure  in  the  world,  though 
in  person  handsome,  active,  and  proper  enough  ;  but  he  would 
er  put  his  greal  fopt  through  the  World's  flounced  skirts, 
and  she  would  stare,  and  cry  out,  and  hate  him.  lie  was  the 
las!  man  who  was  aware  of  the  Woolcomb  flirtation,  when  hun- 
dreds of  people,  I  dare  say,  were  simpering  over  it. 

"  Who  is  that  little  man  who  comes  to  your  house,  and  whom 
I  sometimes  sen-  in'the  park,  aunt — that  little  man  with  the  very 
white  gloves  and  the  very  lawny  complexion  V"  asks  Philip. 

4-  THal  is  Mr.  Woolcomb,  of  the  Lite  Guards  Green,"  aunt  re- 
members. 

is  he  '.'"   -  iy     Philip,  turning  round  to  the  girl?. 


8*  THE    Al>VEXTl.f|<i:>    OF    FH«.ff 

*«  I  should  have  thought  he  would  have  done  better  for  the  tur- 
ban and  cymbals."  And  he  laughs,  and  thinks  he  has  said  a 
very  clever  thing.  Oh,  those  good  things  about  people  and 
against  people  !  Never,  my  dear  young  friend,  say  them  to  any- 
body— not  to  a  stranger,  for  he  will  go  away  and  tell ;  not  to 
the  mistress  of  your  affections,  for  you  may  quarrel  with  her,  and 
then  she  will  tell;  not  to  your  son,  for  the  artless  child  will  re- 
turn to  his  school-fellows  and  say,  "  Papa  says  Mr.  Blenkinsop 
is  a  mull'."  My  child,  or  what  not,  praise  everybody:  smile  on 
everybody :  and  everybody  will  smile  on  you,  in  return — a  sham 
smile,  and  hold  you  out  a  sham  hand  ;  aud,  in  a  word,  esteem 
you  as  you  deserve.  No.  I  think  you  and  I  will  take  the  ups 
and  the  downs,  the  roughs  and  the  smooths  of  this  daily  exist- 
ence and  conversation.  We  will  praise  those  whom  we  like, 
though  nobody  repeat  our  kind  sayings;  and  say  our  say  about 
those  whom  we  dislike,  though  we  are  pretty  sure*  our  words 
will  be  carried  by  tale-bearers,  and  increased,  and  multiplied, 
and  remembered  long  after  we  have  forgotten  them.  We  drop 
a  little  stone — a  little  stone  that  is  swallowed  up,  and  disappears, 
but  the  whole  pond  is  set  in  commotion,  and  ripples  in  continu- 
ally-widening circles  long  after  the  original  little  stone  has  pop- 
ped down  and  is  out  of  sight.  Don't  your  speeches  often  years 
ago— maimed,  distorted,  bloated,  it  may  be  out  of  all  recognition 
— come  strangely  back  to  their  author  ? 

Phil,  five  minutes  after  he  had  made  the  joke,  so  entirely  for- 
got his  saying  about  the  Black  Prince  and  the  cymbals,  that, 
when  Captain  Woolcomb  scowled  at  him  with  his  fiercest  eyes, 
young  Firmin  thought  that  this  was  the  natural  expression  of 
the  captain's  swarthy  countenance,  and  gave  himself  no  further 
trouble  regarding  it.  "  By  George  !  sir,"  said  Phil  afterward, 
speaking  of  this  officer,  "I  remarked  that  he  grinned,  and  chat- 
tered, and  showed  his  teeth  ;  and  remembering  it  was  the  nature 
of  such  baboons  to  chatter  and  grin,  had  no  idea  that  this  chim- 
panzee was  more  angry  with  me  than  with  any  other  gentleman. 
You  see,  Pen,  I  am  a  white-skinned  man  ;  1  am  pronounced  even 
red-whiskered  by  the  ill-natured.  It  is  not  the  prettiest  color.  But 
I  had  no  idea  that  I  was  to  have  a  mulatto  for  a  rival.  1  am 
not  so  rich,  certainly,  but  I  have. enough.  I  can  read  and  spell 
correctly,  and  write  with  tolerable  fluency.  I  could  not,  you 
know,  could  I,  reasonably  suppose  that  ]  need  fear  competition, 
and  that  the  black  horse  would  beat  the  bay  one  V  Shall  1  tell 
you  what  she  used  to  say  to  me  ?  There  is'no  kissing  and  tell- 
ing, mind  you.  No,  by  George  !  Virtue  and  prudenee  were  for 
ever  on  her  lips!  She  warbled  little  sermons  to  me;  hinted 
gently  that  I  should  see  to  safe  investments  of  my  property,  and 
that  no  man,  not  even  a  father,  should  be  the  sole  and  uncon- 
trolled guardian  of  it.  She  asked  me,  sir,  scores  and  scores  of 
little  sweet,  timid,  innocent  questions  about  the  doctor's  proper- 


ON    HIS    WAY    THKOUGM    TliK    \VOKI,J>.  &£ 

ty,  and  how  much  did  I  think  it  was,  and  how  had  he  laid  it  out  ? 
What  virtuous  parents  that  angel  had  !  How  they  brought  her 
up,  and  educated  her  dear  blue  eyes  to  the  main  chance  !  She 
knows  the  price  of  housekeeping,  and  the  value  of  railway 
shares ;  she  invests  capital  for  herself  in  this  world  and  the  next. 
She  may  n't  do  right  always,  but  wrong  ?  O  fie,  never  !  I  say, 
Pen,  an  undeveloped  angel  with  wings  folde^l-  under  her  dress, 
not  perhaps  your  mighty,  snow-white,  flashing  pinions  that  spread 
out  and  soar  up  to  the  highest  stars,  but  a  pair  of  good,  service- 
able, drab,  dove-colored  wings,  that  will  support  her  gently  and 
equably  just  over  our  heads,  and  help  to  drop  her  softly  when 
she  condescends  upon  us.  When  I  think,  sir,  that  I  might  have 
been  married  to  a  genteel  angel,  and  am  single  still — oh  !  it 's 
despair;  it's  despair!" 

But  Philip's  little  story  of  disappointed  hopes  and  bootless 
passion  must  be  told  in  terms  less  acrimonious  and  unfair  than 
the  gentleman  would  use,  naturally  of  a  sanguine,  swaggering 
talk,  prone  to  exaggerate  his  own  disappointments,  and  call  out, 
roar — I  dare  say  swear — if  his -own  corn  was  trodden  upon,  as 
loudly  as  some  men  who  may  have  a  leg  taken  off. 

This  I  can  vouch  for  Miss  Twysden,  Mrs.  Twysden,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  family — that  if  they,  what  you  call,  jilted  Philip, 
they  did  so  without  the  slightest  hesitation  or  notion  that  they 
were  doing  a  dirty  action.  Their  actions  never  were  dirty  or 
mean  :  they  were  necessary,  I  tell  you,  and  calmly  proper.  They 
ate  cheese-parings  with  graceful  silence ;  they  cribbed  from  board- 
wages  ;  they  turned  hungry  servants  out  of  doors  ;  they  remitted 
no  chance  in  their  own  favor  ;  they  slept  gracefully  under  scanty 
coverlets;  they  lighted  niggard  fires;  they  locked  the  caddy 
with  the  closet  lock,  and  served  the  teapot  with  the  smallest  and 
least  frequent  spoon.  But  you  don't  suppose  they  thought  they 
were  mean,  or  that  they  did  wrong?  Ah!  it  is  admirable  to 
think  of  many,  many,  ever  so  many  respectable  families  of  your 
acquaintance  and  mine,  my  dear  friend,  and  how  they  meet  to- 
gether and  humbug  each  other  !  "  My  dear,  I  have  cribbed  half 
an  inch  of  plush  out  of  James'  smallclothes."  "  My  love,  I  have 
saved  a  half-penny  out  of  Mary's  beer.  Is  n't  it  time  to  dress 
for  the  duchess';  and  don't  you  think  John  might  wear  that 
livery  of  Thomas',  who  only  had  it  a  year,  and  died  of  the  small- 
pox V  It 's  a  little  tight  for  him  to  be  sure,  but,"  etc.  What  is 
this  ?  I  profess  to  be  an  impartial  chronicler  of  poor  Phil's  fort- 
unes, misfortunes,  friendships,  and  what-nots,  and  am  getting 
almost  as  angry  with  these  Twysden 8  as  Philip  ever  was  himself. 
Well,  1  am  not  mortally  angry  with  poor  Traviatta  tramping 
the  pavement,  with  the  gas-lamp  flaring  on  her  poor  painted 
smile,  else  my  indignant  virtue  and  squeamish  modesty  would 
never  walk  Piccadilly  or  get  the  air.  But  Lais,  quite  moral,  and 
very  neatly,  primly,  and  straitly  laced — Phryne,  not  the  least 


yo  .  i>yk.\  i  >  uk.-  in    i  iiii.ir 

dishevelled,  but  with  a  fixature  for  her  hair,  and  the  best  stays, 
fastened  by  mamma — your  High  Church  or  Evangelical  Aspasia; 
the  model  of  oil  proprieties,  and  owner  of  ail  virgin  purity 
bloom-;,  ready  to  sell  her  cheek  to  the  oldest  old  fogy  who  has 
money  and  a  title — these  are  the  Unfortunates,  my  dear  brother 
and  s'sier  sinners,  whom  I  should  like  to  see  repentant  and  spe- 
cially trounced  first.  Why.  some  of  these  are  put  into  reforma- 
tories in  Grosvenor  Square.  They  wear  a  prison  dress  of  diamonds 
and  Chantilly  bee.  Their  parents  cry.  and  thanlc  Heaven  as 
they  sell  them  ;  and  all  sorts  of  revered  bishops,  clergy,  relations, 
dowagers,  si<_rn  the  book,  and  ratify  the  ceremony.  Come  !  let 
us  call  a  midnight  meeting  of  those  who  have  been  sold  in  mar- 
riage, I  say;  and  what  a  respectable,  what  a  genteel,  what  a 
fashionable,  what  a  brilliant,  what  an  imposing,  what  a  multi- 
tudinous assembly  we  will  have;  and  "where 's  the  room  in  all 
Babylon  big  enough  to  hold  them? 

Look  into  that  grave,  solemn,  dingy,  somewhat  naked,  "but 
elegant  drawing-room,  in  Beau n ash  street,  and  with  a  little  fan- 
ciful opera-glass  you  may  see  a  pretty  little  group  or  two  engaged 
at  different  periods  of  the  day.  It  is  after  lunch,  and  before 
Rotten  Row  ride  time  (this  story,  you  know,  relates  to  a  period 
ever  so  remote,  and  long  before  folks  thought  ol'  riding  in  the 
park  in  the  forenoon).  After  lunch,  and  before  Rotten  Row 
time,  saunters  into  the  drawiug-room  a  fair-haired  young  fellow 
with  large  feet  and  chest,  careless  of  gloves,  with  auburn  whisk- 
ers blowing  over  a  loose  collar,  and — must  I  confess  it? — a  most 
undeniable  odor  of  cigars  about  his  person.  He  breaks  out  re- 
garding the  debate  of  the  previous  night,  or  the  pamphlet  of 
yesterday,,  or  the  poem  of  the  day  previous-,  or  the  scandal  of  the 
week  before,  or  upon  the  s'reet-swee.per  at  the  corner,  or  the 
Italian  and  monkey  before,  the  park — upon  whatever,  in  a  word, 
moves  his  mind  for  the  moment.  If  Philip  has  had  a  bad  din- 
ner yesterday  (and  happens  to  remember  it),  he  growls,  grum- 
bles, nay,  I  dare  say,  Uses  the  most  blasphemous  language  against 
the  cook,  against  the  waiters, 'against  the  steward,  against  the 
committee,  against  the  whole  society  of  the  club  where  he  has 
been  dining.  If  Philip  has  met  an  organ-jirl  with  pretty  eyes 
and  a,  monkey  in  the  street,  he  has  grinned  and  wondered  over 
the  monkey;  he  has  wagged  his  head,  and  sung  all  the  organ's 
tunes;  he  has  discovered  that  the  little  girl  is  the  most  ravishing 
beauty  eves  ever  looked  on.  and 'that  her  scoundrelly  Savoyard 
father  is  most  likely  an  Alpine  miscreant  who  has  bartered  iVway 
his  child  to  a  pedler  of  the  beggarly  cheesy  valleys,  who  has  sold 
her  to  a  friend  qui  fait  la  traile  ties  hurdJgurdies,  and  has  dis- 
posed of  her  in  England.  If  he  has  to  discourse  on  the  poem, 
pamphlet,  magazine  article — it  is  written  by  the.  greatest  geniusy 
or  the  gee  nest  numskull,  that  the  world  now  exhibits.  He 
write  !     A  man  who  makes  fire  rhyme  with  Marire !     This  vale 


ON    HliS.    WAV    THKoi:i;U     1IIK    WORLD.  !il 

of  tears  and  world  which  we  inhabit  does  not  contain  such  an 
idiot.  Or  have  you  seen  Dobbins'  poem'/  Agnes,  mark  my 
words  for  it — there  is  a  genius  in  Dobbins  which  some  day  will 
show  what  i  have. always  surmised,  what  I  have  always  imagined 
possible,  what  I  ha*  e  always  felt  10  be  more  than  probable,  what, 
by  George  1  I  fee]  to  bo  perfectly  certain;  and  any  man  is  a 
humbug  who  contradicts  it,  and  a  malignant  miscreant,  and  the. 
world  is  full  of  fellows  who  will  never  give  another  man  credit, 
and  I  swear  that  to  recognize  and  feel  merit  in  poetry,  painting, 
music,  rope-dancing,  anything,  is  the  greatest  delight  and  joy 
of  my  existence.     1  say — what  was  I  saying-? 

"You  were  saying,  Philip,  that  you  love  to  recognize  the 
merits  of  all  men  whom  you  see,*'  says  gentle  Agnes,  u  and  I 
believe  you  do." 

"  Yes,"  cries  Phil,  tossing  about  the  fair  locks.  "  I  think  I  do. 
Thank  Heaven,  I  do.  I  know  fellows  who  can  do  many  tilings 
better  than  I  do — everything  better  than  I  do." 

"  Oh,  Philip!"  sighs  the  lady. 

"  But  1  don't  hate  'em  for  it" 

"  You  never  hated  any  one,  sir.  You  are  too  brave  !  Can 
you  fancy  Philip  hating  any  one,  mamma  ?" 

Mamma  is  writing,  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Talbot  Twysdkn  request 
the  honor  of  Admiral  and  Mrs.  Davis  Lockkr's  company  at 
dinner  on  Thursday,  the  so-and-so."  "Philip  what V"  says  mam- 
ma, looking  up  from  her  card.  "  Philip  hating  any  one  !  Philip 
eating  anyone!  Philip  1  we  have  a  little  dinner  on  the  24th. 
We  shall  ask  your  father  to  dine.  We  must  not  have  too  many 
of  the  family.     Come  in  afterward,  please." 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  says  downright  Phil,  "  I  '11  come,  if  you  and  the 
girls  wish.  You  know  tea  is  not  in  my  line ;  and  I  don't  care  about 
dinners,  except  in  my  own  way,  and  with — "  • 

"And  with  your  owndiorrid  set,  sir!"  . 

"  Well,"  says  Sultan  Philip,  flinging  himself  out  an  the  sofa, 
and  lording  on  the  ottoman,  "  I  like  mine  ease  and  mine  inn." 

"  Ah,  Philjp  !  you  grow  more  selfish  every  day.  I  mean  men 
do,"  sighed  Agnes. 

You  will  suppose  mamma  leaves  the  room  at  this  juncture. 
She  has  that  confidence  in  dear  Philip  and  the  dear  girls  that 
.she  sometimes  does  leave  the  room  when  Agnes  and  Phil  are  to- 
gether. She  will  leave  RjfiUBEN,  the  eldest  born,  with  her 
(laughters:  but  my  poor  dear  little  younger  son  of  a  Joseph,  if 
you  suppose  she  will  leave  the  room  and  you  alone  in  it — O  my 
dear  Joseph,  you  .may  just  jump  down  the  well  at  once! 
Mamma,  1  say,  has  left  the  room  at  last,  bowing  with  a  perfect 
sweetness  and  calm  grace  and  gravity:  and  she  has  slipped 
down  the  stairs,  scarce  more  noisy  than  the  shadow  that  slants 
over  the  faded  carpet —  (ph\  the  I'-Mlnl  shadow,  the  faded  sun- 
shine!)—  mamma  is  gone,  I  Bay,  to  the  lower  regions,   and  with 


93  THi:    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP     . 

perfect  good-breeding  is  torturing  the  butler  on  his  bottle-rack — 
is  squeezing  the  housekeeper  in  her  jam-closet — is  watching  the 
three  cold  cutlets  shuddering  in  the  larder  behind  the  wires — is 
blandly  glancing  at  the  kitchen-maid  until  the  poor  wench  fan- 
cies the  piece  of  bacon  is  discovered  which  she  gave  to  the  cross- 
ing-sweeper— and  calmly  penetrating  John  until  he  feels  sure  his 
inmost  heart  is  revealed  to  her,  as  it  throbs  within  his  worsted- 
laced  waistcoat,  and  she  knows  about  that  pawning  of  master's 
old  boots  (beastly  old  high-lows !),  and — and,  in  fact,  all  the  most 
intimate  circumstances  of  his  existence.  A  wretched  maid,  who 
has  been  ironing  collars,  or  what  not,  gives  her  mistress  a  shud- 
dering courtesy,  and  slinks  away  with  her  laces;  and  meanwhile 
our  girl  and  boy  are  prattling  in  the  drawing-room. 

About  what  V  About  everything  on  which  Philip  chooses  to 
talk.  There  is  nobody  to  contradict  him  but  himself,  and  then- 
his  pretty  hearer  vows  and  declares  he  has  not  been  so  very  con- 
tradictory. He  spouts  his  favorite  poems.  "  Delightful !  Do, 
Philip,  read  us  some  Walter  Scott  1  He  is,  as  you  say,  the  most 
fresh,  the  most  manly,  the  most  kindly  of  poetic  writers — not  of 
the  first-class,  certainly ;  in  fact,  he  has  written  most  dreadful 
bosh,  as  you  call  it  so  drolly ;  and  so  has  Wordsworth,  though  he 
is  one  of  the  greatest  of  men,  and  has  reached  sometimes  to  the 
very  greatest  height  and  sublimity  of  poetry ;  but  now  you  put 
it,  I  must  confess  he  is  often  an  old  bore,  and  I  certainly  should 
have  gone  to  sleep  during  the  '  Excursion,'  only  you  read  it  so 
nicely.  You  don't  think  the  new  composers  as  good  as  the  old 
ones,  and  love  mamma's  old-fashioned  playing  ?  Well,  Philip, 
it  is  delightful,  so  lady-like,  so  feminine  !"  Or,  perhaps,  Philip 
has  just  come  from  Hyde  Park,  and  says,  "As  I  passed  by  Aps- 
ley  House  I  saw  the  Duke  come  out,  with  his  old  blue  frock  and 
white  trowsers  and  clear  face.  I  have  seen  a  picture  of  him  in 
an  old  European  Magazine,  which  I  think  I  like  better  than  all 
— gives  me  the  idea  of  one  of  the  brightest  men  in  the  world. 
The  brave  eyes  gleam  at  you  out  of  the  picture ;  and  there  's  a 
smile  on  the  resolute  lips  which  seems  to  insure  triumph.  Agnes, 
Assaye  must  have  been  glorious!" 

"  Glorious  !  Philip  1"  says  Agnes,  who  had  never  heard  of  As- 
saye  before  in  her  life.  "  Arbela,  perhaps;  Salamis,  Marathon, 
Agincourt,  Blenheim,  Busaco — where  dear  grandpapa  was  kill- 
ed— Waterloo,  Armageddon  ;  but  Assaye  ?     Que  voulez-vous  ?" 

"  Think  of  that  ordinarily  prudent  man,  and  how  greatly  he 
knew  how  to  dare  when  occasion  came  !  I  should  like  to  have 
died  after  winning  such  a  game.  lie  has  never  done  anything 
so  exciting  since." 

"  A  game  V  1  thought  it  was  a  battle  just  now,"  murmurs  Agnes 
in  her  mind;  but  there  may  be  some  misunderstanding.  "  Ah, 
Philip,"  she  says,  "  I  fear  excitement  is  too  much  the  life  of  all 
young  men  now.     When  will  you  be  quiet  and  steady,  sir  V" 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WOULD.  93 

"  And  go  to  an  office  every  day,  like  my  uncle  and  cousin  ; 
and  read  the  newspaper  for  three  hours,  and  trot  back  and  see 
you." 

"  Well,  sir !  that  ought  not  to  be  such  very  bad  amusement," 
says  one  of  the  ladies. 

"  What  a  clumsy  wretch  I  am  !  My  foot  is  always  trampling 
on  something  or  somebody  1"  groans  Phil. 

"  You  must  come  to  us,  and  we  will  teach  you  to  dance, 
Bruin !"  says  gentle  Agnes,  smiling  on  him.  I  think,  when 
very  much  agitated,  her  pulse  must  have  gone  up  to  forty.  Her 
blood  must  have  been  a  light  pink.  The  heart  that  beat  under 
that  pretty  white  chest,  which  she  exposed  so  liberally,  may 
have  throbbed  pretty  quickly  once  or  twice  with  waltzing,  but 
otherwise  never  rose  or  fell  beyond  its  natural  gentle  undula- 
tion. It  may  have  had  throbs  of  grief  at  a  disappointment  occa- 
sioned by  the  milliner  not  bringing  a  dress  home  ;  or  have  felt 
some  little  fluttering  impulse  of  youthful  passion  when.it  was  in 
short  frocks,  and  Master  Grimsby  at  the  dancing-school  showed 
some  preference  for  another  young  pupil  out  of  the  nursery. 
But  feelings,  and  hopes,  and  blushes,  and  passions  now  ? 
Pshaw  1  They  pass  away  like  nursery  dreams.  Now  there  are 
only  proprieties.  What  is  love,  young  heart  ?  It  is  two  thou- 
sand a  year  at  the  very  lowest  computation  ;  and  with  the  pres- 
ent rise  in  wages  and  house-rent,  that  calculation  can't  last  very 
long.  Love  V  Attachment  ?  Look  at  Frank  May  thorn,  with 
his  vernal  blushes,  his  leafy  whiskers,  his  sunshiny,  laughing 
face,  and  all  the  birds  of  spring  caroling  in  his  jolly  voice  ;  and 
old  General  Pin  wood  hobbling  in  on  his  cork-leg,  with  his  stars 
and  orders,  and  leering  round  the  room  from  under  his  painted 
eyebrows.  Will  my  modest  nymph  go  to  May  thorn,  or  to  yon- 
der leering  Satyr,  who  totters  toward  her  in  his  white  and 
rouge  ?  Nonsense.  She  gives  her  garland  to  the  old  man,  to  bo 
sure.  He  is  ten  times  as  rich  as  the  young  one.  And  so  tiiey 
went  on  in  Arcadia  itself,  really.  Not  in  that  namby-pamby 
ballet  and  idyll  world,  where  they  tripped  up  to  each  other  in 
rhythm,  and  talked  hexameters;  but  in  the  real,  downright,  no- 
mistake  country — Arcadia — where  Tityrus,  fluting  to  Amaryllis 
in  the  shade,  had  his  pipe  very  soon  put  out  when  Melibeeus 
(the  great  grazier)  performed  on  his  melodious,  exquisite,  irre- 
sistible cow-horn ;  and  where  Daphne's  mother  dressed  her  up 
with  ribbons  and  drove  her  to  market,  and  sold  her,  and  swapped 
her,  and  bartered  her  like  any  other  lamb  in  the  fair.  This  one 
has  been  trotted  to  the  market  so  long  now  that  she  knows  the 
ways  herself.  Her  baa  has  been. heard  for — do  not  let  us  count 
how  many  seasons.  She  has  nibbled  out  of  countless  hands  ; 
frisked  in  many  thousand  dances  ;  come  quite  harmless  away 
from  goodness  knows  how  many  wolves.  Ah  !  ye  lambs  and 
raddled  innocents  of  our  Arcadia!     Ab,  old  Eve  I     Is  it  of  your 


94  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

ladyship  'this  fable  k  narrated  ?  I  say  it  is  as  old  as  Cadmu^, 
and  man  and  mutton  kind. 

So  when  Philip  comes  to  Beaunasli  street  Agnes  listens  to  him 
most  kindly,  sweetly,  gently,  and  affectionately.  Her  pulse 
goes  up  very  nearly  half  a  beat  when  the  echo  of  his  horse's 
heels  is  heard  in  the  quiet  street.  It  nnVlergoes  a  corresponding 
depression  when  the  daily  grief  of  parting  is  encountered  and 
overcome.  Blanche  and  Agnes  don't  love  each  other  very  pas- 
sionately. If  I  may  say  as  ranch  regarding  those  two  lambklfcs, 
they  butt  at  each  other — they  quarrel  with  each  other — but 
they  have  secret  understandings.  During  Phil's  visits  the  girls 
remain  together,  you  understand,  or  mamma  is  with  the  young 
people.  Female  friends  may  come  in  to  call  on  Mrs.  Twysden, 
and  the  matrons  whisper  together,  and  glance  at  the  cousins,  and 
look  knowing.  "Poor  orphan  boy  1"  mamma  says  to  a  sister 
matron.  "  I  am  like  a  mother  to  him  since  my  dear  sister  died. 
His  own  home  is  so  blank,  and  ours  so  merry,  so  affectionate  ! 
There  may  be  intimacy,  tender  regard,  the  utmost  confidence 
between  cousins — there  may  be  future  and  even  closer  ties  be- 
tween them — but  you  understand,  dear  Mrs.  Matcham,  no  en- 
gagement between  them.  He  is  eager,  hot-headed,  impetuous, 
and  imprudent,  as  we  all  know.  She  has  not  seen  the  world 
enough — is  not  sure  of  herself,  poor  dear  child.  Therefore,  every 
circumspection,  every  caution,  is  necessary.  There  must  be  no  en- 
gagement— no  letters  between  them.  My  darling  Agnes  does  not 
write  to  ask  him  to  dinner  without  showing  the  note  to  me  or  her 
father.  My  dearest  girls  respect  themselves."  u  Of  course,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Twysden,  they  are  admirable,  both  of  them.  Bless  you, 
darlings  !  Agnes,  you  look  radiant!  Ah,  Rosa,  my  child,  I  wish 
you  had  dear  Blanche's  complexion  !" 

"  And  is  n't  it  monstrous  keeping,  that  poor  boy  banging  on 
until  Mr.  Woolcomb  has  made  up  his  mind  about  coming  for- 
ward r"'  says  dear  Mrs.  Mate  bam  to  her  own  daughter,  as  her 
brougham-door  closes  on  the  pair.  "Here  he  comes!  Here  is 
his  cab  !  Maria  Twysden  is  one  of  the  smartest  women  in  Eng- 
land— that  she  is." 

"  How  odd  it  is",  mamma,  that  the  beau  cousin  and  Captain 
Woolcomb  are  always  calling,  and  never  call  together!"  re- 
marks the  ingenue. 

"  They  might  quarrel  if  they  met.  They  say  young  Mr.  Fir- 
min  is  very  quarrelsome  and  impetuous!"  says  mamma. 

1  But,  how  an;  they  kept  apart  V" 

"  Chance,  my  dear!  mere  chance!"  says  mamma.  And  they 
agree  to  say  it  is  chance — and.  they  agree  to  pretend  to  believe 
One  another.  And  the  girl  and  the  mother  know  everything 
about  Woolcomb's  property,  everything  about  Philip's  property 
and  expectations,  everything  about  all  the  young  men  in  Lon- 
don, and  those  coining  on.     And   Mrs.  Matcham's  girl  fished  for 


ox    urs    WAY   THKOUnil    TirK    WOULD.  $5 

Captain  Woblcortib  lasfyear.in  Scotland,  at  rjoeh-hookey ;  and 
stalked  him  to  Paris;  and  they  went  dWn  on  their  knees  to 
Lady  Banbury  when  they  heard  of  the  theatricals  atihe.  Oross; 
asd-jpUr sued  that  man  about  until  he  is  forced  to  say,  "Con- 
found me  !  hang  me  !  it 's  too  bad  of  that  woman  and  her  daugh- 
ter; it  is  now,  I  give  you  my  honor  it  is  h  And  all  the  fellows 
chaff  me  !  And  she  took  a  house  in  Regent's  Park,  opposite  our 
baj  racks,  and  asked  for  her  daughter  to  learn  to  ride  in  our 
school — [ 'm  blest  if  she  did  n't,  Mrs.  Twysden  !  and  I  thought 
my  black  mare  would  have  kicked  her  oft*  one  de\y — I  mean  the 
daughter — but  she  stuck  on  like  grind  death  ;  and  the  fellows 
cad  them  Mrs.  Grim  Death  ami  her  daughter.  Our  surgeon 
called  them  so.  and  a.  dooeid  rum  follow — and  they  chaff*  me 
about  it,  you  know — ever  so  many  of*  the  fellows  do — and  I'm 
not  going  to  be  had  in  that  way  by  Mrs.  Grim  Death  and  her 
daughter  !  No,  not  as  I  knows,  if  you  please  !' 

"  You  are  a  dreadful  man,  and  you  gave  her  a  dreadful  name, 
Captain  Woolcomb  !"  says  mamma. 

"  It  was  n't  me.  It  was  the  surgeon,  you  know,  Miss  Agnes; 
a  dooeid  funny  and  witty  fellow,  Nixon  is — and  sent  a  thing 
once  to  Punch,  Nixon  did.  1  heard  him  make  the  riddle  in  Al- 
bany Barracks,  and  it  riled  Foker  so !  You've  no  idea  how  it 
riled  Fokcr,  for  he's  in  it!" 

u  In  it?"  asks  Agues,  with  the  gentle  smile,  the  candid  blue 
eves — the  same  eves,  expression,  lips,  that  smile  and  sparkle  at 
Philip. 

"  Here  it  is !  Capital !  Took  it  clown  !  Wrote  it  into  my  pock- 
et-book at  once  as  Nixon  made  it.  k  All  tfoctors  like  my  firsts 
that  's  clear  !'  Doctor  Firmin  does  that.  Old  Parr  street  party  1 
Don't  you  see,  Miss  Agnes  V   Fkk  !  Don't  you  see  ?" 

"  Fee  !  Oh,  you  droil  thing !"' cries  Agnes,  smiling,  radiant, 
very  much  puzzled. 

•■  ■  My  second^  "  goes  on  the  young  officer — "  '  My  second 
gives  us  Foker  $  beer.''  " 

il '  My  whole,  's  the  shortest  month  in  all  ike  year  /'  Don't  you 
Mrs.  Twyeden?  Fee-Brjcwkry,  don't  you  ski:  V  Februa- 
ry! A  dooeid  good  cm-,  isn't  it  now  ?  and  I  wonder  Punch 
never  put  it  in.  And  upon  my  word,  1  used  to  spell  it  Febua- 
ry  before,  1  did  ;  and  I  dare  say  ever  so  many  fellows  do  still. 
And  I  know  the  right  way  now,  and  all  from  that  riddle  which 
Nixon  mad' 

The  ladies  declare  he  is  a  droll  man,  and  full-  of  fun.  lie  rat- 
tles on,  artlessly  telling  his  little  stories  of  sport,  drink,  advent- 
ure, in  which  the  dusky  little  man  himself  is  a  prominent  figure. 
Not  honey-mouthed  "Plato  would  be  listened  to  more  kindly  by 
those  three  ladies.  A  bland,  frank  smile  shines  over  Talbot 
Twysden's  noble  face  as  he  comes  in  from  his  office  and  finds  the 
Creole  prattling.     "What  I  you    here,  "Woolcomb  ?   Hey  I     Glad 


0(3  THE    ADVENTURE9   OF    PniLIP 

to  see  you  Iw  And  the  gallant  hand  goes  out  and  meets  and 
grasps  Woolcomb's  tiny  kid  glove. 

11  He  lias  been  so  amusing,  papa  '.  lie  lias  been  making  us  die 
with  laughing  !  Tell  papa  that  riddle  you  made,  Captain  Wool- 
comb." 

"  That  riddle  I  made?  That  riddle  Nixon,  our  surgeon,  made. 
*  All  doctors  like  my  first,  that 's  clear,'  "  etc. 

And  da  capo.  And  the  family,  as  he  expounds  this  admirable 
rebus,  gather  round  the  young  officer  in  a  group,  and  the  curtain 
drops. 

A^  in  a  theatre  booth  at  a  fair  there  are  two  or  three  perform- 
ances in  a  day,  so  in  Beaunash  street  a  little  genteel  comedy 
is  played  twice:  at  four  o'clock  with  Mr.  Firmin,  at  five  o'clock 
with  "Mr.  Woolcomb  ;  and  for  both  young  gentlemen  the  same 
smiles,  same  eyes,  same  voice,  same  welcome.  Ah,  bravo  !  ah, 
encore  1 


CHAPTER  X. 

IN   WHICH   WE   VISIT   "  ADMIRAL   BYXG." 

From  long  residence  in  Bohemia,  and  fatal  love  of  bachelor 
ease  and  habits,  Master  Philip's  pure  tastes  were  so  destroyed 
and  his  manners  so  perverted  that,  you  will  hardly  believe  it, 
he  was  actually  indifferent  to  the  pleasures  of  the  refined  home 
we  have  just  been  describing  ;  and  when  Agnes  was  away, 
sometimes  even  when  she  was  at  home,  was  quite  relieved  to  get 
out  of  Beaunash  street.  He  is  hardly  twenty  yards  from  the 
door  when  out  of  his  pocket  there  comes  a  case ;  out  of  the  case 
there  jumps  an  aromatic  cigar,  which  is  scattering  fragrance 
around  as  he  is  marching  briskly  northward  to  his  next  house  of 
♦•all.  The  pace  is  even  more  lively  now  than  when  he  is  hasten- 
ing on  what  you  call  the  wings  of  love  to  Beaunash  street..  At 
the  house  whither  he  is  now  going  he  and  the  cigar  are  always 
welcome.  There  is  no  need  of  munching  orange  chips,  or  chew- 
ing scented  pills,  or  flinging  your  weed  away  half  a  mile  before 
you  reach  Thornhaugh  street — the  low,  vulgar  place  1  1  promise, 
you  Phil  may  smoke  at  Brandon's,  and  find  others  doing  the 
same.  He  may  set  the  house  on  fire  if  so  minded,  such  a  favor- 
ite is  he  there ;  and  the  Little  Sister,  with  her  kind,  beaming 
smile,  will  be  there  to  bid  him  welcome.  How  that  woman 
loved  Phil,  and  how  he  loved  her,  is  quite  a  curiosity  ;  and  both 
of  them  used  to  be  twitted  with  this  attachment  by  their  mutual 
friends,  and  blush  as  they  acknowledged  it.  Ever  since  the 
little  nurse  had  saved  his  life  as  a  school-boy  it  was  a  la  vie  a  la 
mart  between  them.  Phil's  father's  chariot  used-  to  come  to 
Thornhaugh  street  sometimes — at  rare  times — and  the  doctor 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  97 

descend  thence  and  have  colloquies  with  the  Little  Sister.  She 
attended  a  patient  or  two  of  his.  She  was  certainly  very  much 
better  off  in  her  money  matters  in  these  late  years  since  she  had 
known  Dr.  Firmin.  Do  you  think  she  took  money  from  him  ? 
As  a  novelist  who  knows  everything  about  his  people  I  am  con- 
strained to  say  Yes.  She  took  enough  to  pay  some  little  bills  of 
her  weak-minded  old  father,  and  send  the  bailiff's  hand  from  his  t 
old  collar.  But  no  more.  "  I  think  you  owe  him  as  much  as 
that,"  she  said  to  the  doctor.  But  as  for  compliments  between 
them — "  Dr.  Firmin,  I  would  die  rather  tham  be  beholden  to 
you  for  anything,"  sho  said,  with  her  little  limbs  all  in  a  tremor, 
and  her  eyes  flashing  anger.  "  How  dare  you,  sir,  after  old 
days,  be  a  coward  and  pay  compliments  to  me  ?  I  will  tell  your 
son  of  you,  sir  !"  and  the  little  woman  looked  as  if  she  could 
have  stabbed  the  elderly  libertine  there  as  he  stood.  And  he 
shrugged  his  handsome  shoulders ;  blushed  a  little  too,  perhaps ; 
gave  her  one  of  his  darkling  looks,  and  departed.  She  had  be- 
lieved him  once.  She  had  married  him,  as  she  fancied.  He 
had  tired  of  her  ;  forsaken  her;  left  her— left  her  even  without 
a  name.  She  had  not  known  his  for  long  years  after  her  trust 
and  his  deceit.  "No,  sir,  I  would  n't  have  your  name  now,  not 
if  it  were  a  lord's,  I  would  n't,  and  a  coronet  on  your  carriage. 
You  are  beneath  me  now,  Mr.  Brand  Firmin  !"  she  had  said. 

How  came  she  to  lov.e  the  boy  so  V  Years  back,  in  her  own 
horrible  extremity  of  misery,  she  could  remember  a  week  or  two 
of  a  brief,  strange,  exquisite  happiness,  which  came  to  her  in  the 
midst  of  her  degradation  and  desertion,  and  for  a  few  days  a 
baby  in  her  arms,  with  eyes  like  Philip's.  It  was  taken  from  her 
after  a  few  days — only  sixteen*  days.  Insanity  came  upon  her, 
as  her  dead  infant  was  carried  away — insanity,  and  fever,  and 
struggle — all!  who  knows  how  dreadful?  She  never  does. 
There  is  a  gap  in  her  life  which  she  never  can  recall  .quite.  But 
George  Brand  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  knows  how  very  frequent  are 
such  cases  of  mania,  and  that  women  who  don't  speak  about 
them  often  will  cherish  them  for  years  after  they  appear  to  have 
passed  away.  The  Little  Sister  says  quite  gravely,  sometimes, 
"  They  are  "allowed  to  come  back.  They  do  come  back.  ^  Else 
what  's  the  good  of  little  cherubs  bein'  born,  and  smilin',  and 
happy,  and  beautiful— say,  for  sixteen  days,  and  then  an  end? 
I  've  talked  about  it  to  many  ladies  in  grief  sim'lar  to  mine  was, 
and  it  comforts  them.  And  when  I  saw  that  child  on  his  side 
bed,  and  he  lifted  his  eyes,  /  knew  him,  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Ridley. 
I  don't  speak  about  it;  but  I  knew  him,  ma'am;  my  angel  came 
back  again.  I  know  him  by  the  eyes.  Look  at  'era.  Did  you 
ever  Bee  such  eves?  They  look  as  if  they  had  seen  Heaven. 
His  father's  don't"  Mrs.  Ridley  believes  this  theory  solemnly, 
and  I  think  I  know  a  lady,  nearly  connected  with  myself,  who 
can't  be  got  quite  to  disown  it    And  this  secret  opinion  to  women 


$g  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

in  grief  and  sorrow  over  their  new-born  lost  infants  Mrs.  Bran- 
don persists  in  imparting.  "  /  know  a  case."  the  nurse  murmurs, 
"of  a  poor  mother  who  lost  her  child  at  sixteen  days  old  ;  and 
sixteen  years  after,  on  the  very  day,  she  saw  him  again." 

Philip  knows  so  far  of  the  Little  Sister's  story  that  he  is  the 
object  of  this  delusion,  and  indeed  it  very  strangely  and  tenderly 
-affects  him.  He  remembers  fitfully  the  illness  through  which 
the  Little  Sister  tended  him,  the  wild  paroxysms  of  his  fever,  his 
head  throbbing  on  her  shoulders — cool  tamarind  drinks  which 
she  applied  to  his  lips — great  gusty  night  shadows  flickering 
through  the  bare  school  dormitory — the  little  figure  of  the  nurse 
gliding  in  and  out  of  the  dark.  He  must  be  aware  of  the  recog- 
nition which  we  know  of,  and  which  took  place  at  his  bedside, 
though  he  has  never  mentioned  it — not  to  his  father,  not  to  Caro- 
line. But  he  clings  to  the  woman,  ami  shrinks  from  the  man. 
Is  it  instinctive  love  and  antipathy  ?  The  special  reason  for  his 
quarrel  with  his  father  the  junior  Firmin  has  never  explicitly 
told  me  then  or  since.  1  have  known  sons  much  more  confi- 
dential, and  who,  when  their  fathers  tripped  and  stumbled, 
would  bring  their  acquaintances  to  jeer  at  the  patriarch  in  his 
fall. 

One  day,  as  Philip  enters  Thornhaugh  street,  and  the  Sister's 
little  parlor  there,  fancy  his  astonishment  on  finding  his  father's 
dingy  friend,  the  Rev.  Tuft  on  Hunt,  at  his  ease  by  the  fireside. 
44  Surprised  to  see  vie  here,  eh  ?"  says  the  dingy  gentleman,  with 
a  sneer  at  Philip's  lordly  face  of  wonder  and  disgust.  "Mrs. 
Brandon  and  I  turn  out  to  be  very  old  friends." 

"  Yes,  sir,  old  acquaintances,"  says  the  Little  Sister,  very 
gravely. 

44  The  captain  brought  me  home  from  the  club  at  the  Byngs. 
Jolly  fellows  the  Byngs.  My  service  to  you,  Mr.  Gann  and  Mrs. 
Brandon/'  And  the  two  persons  addressed  by  the  gentleman, 
who  is  "  taking  some  refreshment,"  as  the  phrase  is,  make  a  bow, 
in  acknowledgment  of  this  salutation. 

"  You  should  have  been  at  Mr.  Philip's  call- supper,  Captain 
Gann,"  the  divine  resumes.  "  That  was  a  night !  Tip-top 
swells — noblemen — first-rate  claret.  That  claret  of  your  father's, 
Philip,  is  pretty  nearly  drunk  down.  And  your  song  was  famous. 
Did  you  ever  hear  him  sing,  Mrs.  Brandon?" 

-u  Who  do  you  mean  by  him?"  says  Philip,  who  always  boiled 
with  rage  before  this  man. 

Caroline,  divines  the  antipathy.  She  lays  a  little  hand  on 
Philip's  arm.  "  Mr.  Hunt  has  been  having  too  much,  I  think," 
she  says.     "  I  did  know  him  ever  so  long  ago,  Philip  !" 

44  Whas  does  he  mean  by  HiniV"  again  says  Philip,  snorting 
at  Tufton  Hunt. 

"  Him  V— Dr.  Luther's  Hymn  !  «  Wein,  Weiber.  und  G.sang,' 
to  be  sure  !"  cries  the  clergyman,  humming  the  tune.     "  I  learned 


ON   HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  99 

it  in  Germany  myself — passed  a  good  deal  of  time  in  Germany, 
Captain  Gann — six  months  in  a  specially  shady  place — Quod 
Strasse,  in  Frankfort-on-the-Main — being  persecuted  by  some 
wicked  Jews  there.  And  there  was  another  poor  English  chap 
in  the  place,  too,  who  used  to  chirp  that  song  behind  the  bars, 
and  died  there,  and  disappointed  the  Philistines.  I  ?ve  seen  a 
deal  of  life,  I  have  ;  and  met  with  a  precious  deal  of  misfortune'; 
and  borne  it  pretty  stoutly,  too,  since  your  father  and  I  were  at 
college  together,  Philip.  You  don't  do  anything  in  this  way  ? 
Not  so  early,  eh  ?  It  's  good  rum,  Gann,  and  no  mistake."  And 
again  the  chaplain  drinks  to  the  captain,  who  waves  the  dingy 
hand  of  hospitality  toward  his  dark  guest. 

For  several  months  past  Hunt  had  now  been  a  resident  in 
London,  and  a  pretty  constant  visitor  at  Dr.  Firmin's  house.  He 
came  and  went  at  his  will.  He  made  the  place  his  house  of  call ; 
and  in  the  doctor's  trim,  silent,  orderly  mansion,  was  perfectly 
free,  talkative,  dirty,  and  familiar.  Philip's  loathing  for  the  man 
increased  till  it  reached  a  pitch  of  frantic  hatred.  Mr.  Phil, 
theoretically  a  Radical,  and  almost  a  Republican  (in  opposition, 
perhaps,  to  his  father,  who  of  course  held  the  highly-respectable 
line  of  politics)— Mr.  Sansculotte  Phil  was  personally  one  of  the 
most  aristocratic  and  overbearing  of  young  gentlemen  ;  and  had 
a  contempt  and  hatred  for  mean  people,  for  base  people,  for 
servile  people,  and  especially  for  too  familiar  people,  which  was 
not  a  little  amusing  sometimes,  which  was  provoking  often,  but 
which  he  never  was  at  the  least  pains  of  disguising.  His  uncle 
and  cousin  Twysden,  for  example,  he  treated  not  half  so  civilly 
as  their  footmen.  Little  Talbot  humbled  himself  before  Phil, 
and  felt  not  always  easy  in  his  company.  Young  Twysden  hated 
him,  and  did  not  disguise  his  sentiments  at  the  club,  or  to  their 
mutual  acquaintance  behind  Phil's  broad  back.  And  Phil,  for 
his  part,  adopted  toward  his  cousin  a  kick-me-down-stairs  man- 
ner, which  I  own  must  have  been  provoking  to  that  gentleman, 
who  was  Phil's  senior  by  three  years,  a  clerk  in  a  public  office, 
a  member  of  several  good  clubs,  and  altogether  a  genteel  mem- 
ber of  society.  Phil  would  often  forget  Ringwood  Twysden's 
resence,  and  pursue  his  own  conversation  entirely  regardless  of 
.lingwood's  observation.  He  was  very  rude,  I  own.  Que  voulez- 
vousf  We  have  all  of  us  our  little  failings,  and  one  of  Philip's 
was  an  ignorant  impatience  of  bores,  parasites,  and  pretenders. 
So  no  wonder  my  young  gentleman  was  not  very  fond  of  his 
father's  friend,  the  dingy  jail  chaplain.  I,  who  am  the  most  tol- 
erant man  in  the  world,  as  all  my  friends  know,  liked  Hunt  little 
better  than  Phil  did.  The  man's  presence  made  me  uneasy. 
His  dress,  his  complexion,  his  teeth,  his  leer  at  women — Que 
sais-je  ? — every  thing  was  unpleasant  about  this  Mr.  Hunt,  and 
his  gayety  and  familiarity  more  specially  disgusting  than  even 
his  hostility.     The  wonder  was  that  battle  had  not  taken  place 


1 


100  THE   ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

between  Philip  and  the  jail  clergyman,  who,  I  suppose,  was  ac- 
customed to  be  disliked,  and  laughed  with  cynical  good-humor  at 
the  other's  disgust. 

Hunt  was  a  visitor  of  many  tavern  parlors ;  and  one  day, 
strolling  out  of  the  "Admiral  Byng,"  he  saw  his  friend  Dr.  Fir- 
ming well-known  equipage  stopping  at  a  door  in  Thornhaugh 
street,  out  of  which  the  doctor  presently  came.  "  Brandon  "  was 
on  the  door.  Brandon,  Brandon !  Hunt  remembered  a  dark 
transaction  of  more  than  twenty  years  ago — of  a  woman  deceiv- 
ed by  this  Firmin,  who  then  chose  to  go  by  the  name  of  Brandon. 
He  lives  with  her  still,  the  old  hypocrite,  or  he  has  gone  back  to 
her,  thought  the  parson.  Oh  you  old  sinner !  And  the  next 
time  he  called  in  Old  Parr  street  on  his  dear  old  college  friend, 
Mr.  Hunt  was  specially  jocular,  and  frightfully  unpleasant  and 
familiar. 

"£aw  your  trap  Tottenham  Court  Road  way,"  says  the  slang 
parson,  nodding  to  the  physician. 

"  Have  some  patients  there.  People  are  ill  in  Tottenham 
Court  Road,"  remarks  the  doctor. 

"  Pallida  mors  azquo  pede — hey,  doctor?  What  used  Flaccus 
to  say  when  we  were  undergrads  ?" 

"  jEquo  pede,"  sighs  the  doctor,  casting  up  his  fine  eyes  to  the 
ceiling. 

"  Sly  old  fox  1  Not  a  word  will  he  say  about  her !"  thinks  the 
clergyman.  "  Yes,  yes,  I  remember.  And,  by  Jove !  Gann  was 
the  name." 

Gann  was  also  the  name  of  that  queer  old  man  who  frequent- 
ed the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  where  the  ale  was  so  good — the  old  boy 
whom  they  called  the  Captain.  Yes ;  it  was  clear  now.  That 
ugly  business  was  patched  up.  The  astute  Hunt  saw  it  all.  The 
doctor  still  kept  up  a  connection  with  the — the  party.  And  that 
♦is  her  old  father,  sure  enough.  "  The  old  fox,  the  old  fox  1  I  've 
earthed  him,  have  I  ?  This  is  a  good  game.  I  wanted  a  little 
something  to  do,  and  this  will  excite  me,"  thinks  the  clergyman. 

I  am  describing  what  I  never  could  have  seen  or  heard,  and 
can  guarantee  only  verisimilitude,  not  truth,  in  my  report  of  the 
private  conversation  of  these  worthies.  The  end  of  scores  and 
scores  of  Hunt's  conversations  with  his  friend  was  the  same — an 
application  for  money.  If  it  rained  when  Hunt  parted  from  his 
college  chum,  it  was,  "  I  say,  doctor,  I  shall  spoil  my  new  hat, 
and  I  am  blest  if  I  have  any  money  to  take  a  cab.  Thank  you, 
old  boy.  Au  revoir."  If  the  day  was  fine,  it  was,  "My  old 
blacks  show  the  white  seams  so  that  you  must  out  of  your  charity 
rig  me  out  with  a  new  pair.  Not  your  tailor.  He  is  too  expen- 
sive. Thank  you — a  couple  of  sovereigns  will  do."  And  the 
doctor  takes  two  from  the  mantle-piece,  and  the  divine  retires, 
jingling  the  gold  in  his  greasy  pocket. 

The  doctor  is  going  after  the  few  words  about  pallida  mors, 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  101 

and  has  taken  up  that  well-brushed  broad  hat  with  that  ever-fresh 
lining,  which  we  all  admire  in  him — "  Oh,  I  say,  Firmin  !"  breaks 
out  the  clergyman.  "Before  you  go  out,  you  must  lend  me  a 
few  sovs,  please.  They've  cleaned  me  out  in  Air  street.  That 
confounded  roulette  !  It 's  a  madness  with  me." 

u  By  George  !"  cries  the  other,  with  a  strong  execration,  "  you 
are  too  bad,  Hunt.  Every  week  of  my  life  you  come  to  me  for 
money.  You  have  had  plenty.  Go  elsewhere.  I  won't  give  it 
you." 

"  Yes  you  will,  old  boy,"  says  the  other,  looking  at  him  a  ter- 
rible look  ;  "  for — " 

"  For  what  ?"  says  the  doctor,  the  veins  of  his  tall  forehead 
growing  very  full. 

"  For  old  times'  sake,"  says  the  clergyman.  "  There 's  seven 
of  'em  on  the  table  in  bits  of  paper — that  'II  do  nicely."  And  he 
sweeps  the  fees  with  a  dirty  hand  into  a  dirty  pouch.  "  Halloa  ! 
Swearin'  and  cursin'  before  a  clergyman.  Don't  cut  up  rough, 
old  fellow  !  Go  and  take  the  air.     It  '11  cool  you." 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  like  that  fellow  to  attend  me  if  I  was 
sick,"  says  Hunt,  shuffling  away,  rolling  the  plunder  in  his  greasy 
hand.  "  I  don't  think  I  'd  like  to  meet  him  by  moonlight  alone, 
in  a  very  quiet  lane.  He  's  a  determined  chap.  And  his  eyes 
mean  miching  ?7ialecho,  his  eyes  do.  Phew  !"  And  he  laughs, 
and  makes  a  rude  observation  about  Dr.  Firmin's  eyes. 

That  afternoon  the  gents  avIio  used  the  "  Admiral  Byng"  re- 
marked the  reappearance  of  the  party  who  looked  in  last  even- 
ing, and  who  now  stood  glasses  round,  and  made  himself  uncom- 
mon agreeable  to  be  sure.  Old  Mr.  Ridley  says  he  is  quite  the 
gentleman.  "  Hevident  have  been  in  foring  parts  a  great  deal, 
and  speaks  the  languages.  Probbly  have  'ad  misfortunes,  which 
many  'av  'ad  them.  Drinks  rum-and-water  tremenjous.  'Ave 
scarce  no  heppytite.  Many  get  into  this  way  from  misfortunes. 
A  plesn  man,  most  well  informed  on  almost  every  subjeek. 
Think  he  's  a  clergyman.  He  and  Mr.  Gann  have  made  quite. 
a  friendship  together,  he  and  Mr.  Gann  'ave.  Which  they  talked 
of  Watloo,  and  Gann  is  very  fond  of  that,  Gann  is.most  certnv. ' 
I  imagine  Ridley  delivering  these  sentences,  and  alternate  little 
volleys  of  smoke,  as  he  sits  behind  his  sober  calumet  and  prattles 
in  the  tavern  parlor. 

After  Dr.  Firmin  has  careered  through  the  town,  standing  by 
sick-beds  with  his  sweet  sad  smile,  fondled  and  blessed  by  tender 
mothers  who  hail  him  as  the  saviour  of  their  children,  touching 
ladies'  pulses  with  a  hand  as  delicate  as  their  own,  patting  little 
fresh  cheeks  with  courtly  kindness — little  cheeks  that  owe.  their 
roses  to  his  marvellous  skill ;  after  he  has  soothed  and  comforted 
my  lady,  shaken  hands  with  my  lord,  looked  in  at  the  club,  and 
exchanged  courtly  salutations  with  brother  bigwigs,  and  driven 
away  in  the  handsome  carriage  with  the  noble  horses — admired, 


102  THE    AD VENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

respecting,  respectful,  saluted,  saluting — so  that  every  man  says, 
"  Excellent  man,  Firmin.  Excellent  doctor,  excellent  man. 
Safe  man.  Sound  man.  Man  of  good  family.  Married. a  rich 
wife.  Lucky  man."  And  so  on.  After  the  day's  triumphant 
career,  I  fancy  I  see  the  doctor  driving  homeward,  with  those 
sad,  sad  eyes,  that  haggard  smile. 

He  comes  whirling  up  Old  Parr  street  just  as  Phil  saunters  in 
from  Regent  street,  as  usual,  cigar  in  mouth.  He  flings  away 
the  cigar  as  he  sees  his  father,  and  they  enter  the  house  to- 
gether. 

"  Do  you  dine  at  home,  Philip  ?"  the  father  asks. 

"  Do  you,  sir  ?  1  will  if  you  do,"  says  the  son,  "  and  if  you  are 
alone." 

"  Alone.  Yes.  That  is,  there  '11  be  Hunt,  I  suppose,  whom 
you  don't  like.      But  the  poor  fellow  lias  few  places  to  dine  at. 

What?  D Hunt?  That's  a  strong  expression  about  a  poor 

fellow  in  misfortune,  and  your  father's  old  friend." 

I  am  afraid  Philip  had  used  that  wicked  monosyllable  while  his 
father  was  speaking,  and  at  the  mention  of  the  clergyman's  de- 
tested name.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  father.  It  slipped  out  in 
spite  of  me.     I  can't  help  it.     I  hate  the  fellow."* 

"You  don't  disguise  your  likes  or  dislikes,  Philip,"  says,  or 
rather  groans,  the  safe  man,  the  sound  man,  the  prosperous  man, 
the  lucky  man,  the  miserable  man.  For  years  and  years  he  has 
known  that  his  boy's  heart  has  revolted  from  him,  and  detected 
him,  and  gone  from  him  ;  and  with  shame,  and  remorse,  and 
sickening  feeling,  he  lies  awake  in  the  night-watches,  and  thinks 
how  he  is  alone — alone  in  the  world.  Ah  !  Love  your  parents, 
young  ones !  O  Father  Beneficent !  strengthen  our  hearts : 
strengthen  and  purify  them  so  that  we  may  not  have  to  blush  be- 
fore our  children  ! 

"  You  don't  disguise  your  likes  and  dislikes,  Philip,"  says  the 
father  then,  with  a  tone  that  smites  strangely  and  keenly  on  the 
young  man. 

There  is  a  great  tremor  in  Philip's  voice  as  he  says,  "  No, 
father,  I  can't  bear  that  man,  and  I  can't  disguise  my  feelings. 
I  have  just  parted  from  the  man.     I  have  just  met  him." 

«  Where  ?" 

"At — at  Mrs.  Brandon's,  father."  He  blushes  like  a  girl  as  he 
speaks. 

At  the  next  moment  he  is  scared  by  the  execration  which 
hisses  from  his  father's  lips,  and  the  awful  look  of  bate  which  the 
elder's  face  assumes — that  fatal,  forlorn,  fallen,  lost  look  which, 
man  and  boy,  has  often  frightened  poor  Phil.  Philip  did  not 
like  that  look,  npr  indeed  that  other  one,  which  his  father  east  at 
Hunt,  who  presently  swaggered  in. 

"  What!  you  dint*  here  V  We  rarely  do  papa  the  honor  of  din- 
ing with  him,"  says  the  parson,  with  his  knowing  leer.     "  J  sup- 


ON    HIS   WAY    THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  103 

pose,  doctor,  it  is  to  be  fatted-calf  day  now  the  prodigal  has  come 
home.     There 's  worse  things  than  a  good  fillet  of  veal,  eh  T* 

Whatever  the  meal  might  be,  the  greasy  chaplain  leered  and 
winked  over  it  as  he  gave  it  his  sinister  blessing.  The  two  elder 
guests  tried  to  be  lively  and  gay,  as  Philip  thought,  who  took  such 
little  trouble  to  disguse  his  own  moods  of  gloom  or  merriment. 
Nothing  was  said  regarding  the  occurrences  of  the  morning  when 
my  young  gentleman  had  been  rather  rude  to  Mr.  Hunt;  and 
Phinp  did  not  need  his  father's  caution  to  make  no  mention  of 
his  previous  meeting- with  their  guest.  Hunt,  as  usual,  talked  to 
the  butler,  made  sidelong  remarks  to  the  footman,  and  garnished 
his  conversation  with  slippery  double-entendre  and  dirty  old- 
world  slang.  Betting-houses, gambling-houses,  Tattersall's, fights, 
and  their  frequenters,  were  his  cheerful  themes,  and  on  these  he 
descanted  as  usual.  The  doctor  swallowed  this  dose,  which  his 
friend  poured  out,  without  the  least  expression  of  disgust.  On 
the  contrary,  he  was  cheerful :  he  was  for  an  extra  bottle  of  claret 
— it  never  could  be  in  better  order  than  it  was  now. 

The  bottle  was  scarce  put  on  the  table,  and  tasted,  and  pro- 
nounced perfect,  when — oh  !  disappointment ! — the  butler  reap- 
pears with  a  note  for  the  doctor.  One  of  his  patients.  He  must  go. 
She  has  little,  the  matter  with  her.  She  lives  hard  by,  in  May  Fair. 
"  You  and  Hunt  finish  this  bottle,  unless  I  am  back  before  it  is 
done;  and  if  it  is  done,  we'll  have  another,"  says  Dr.  Firmin, 
jovially.  "  Don't  stir,  Hunt" — and  Dr.  Firmin  is  gone,  leaving 
Philip  alone  with  the  guest  to  whom  he  had  certainly  been  rude 
in  the  morning. 

"  The  doctor's  patients  often  grow  very  unwell  about  claret 
time,"  growls  Mr.  Hunt,  some  few  minutes  after.  "  Never  mind. 
The  drink  's  good — good  !  as  somebody  said  at  your  famous  call- 
supper,  Mr.  Philip — won't  call  you  Philip,  as  you  don't  like  it. 
You  were  uncommon  crusty  to  me  in  the  morning,  to  be  sure.  In 
my  time  there  would  have  been  bottles  broke,  or  worse,  for  that 
sort  of  treatment." 

"  I  have  asked  your  pardon,"  Philip  said.  a  I  was  annoyed 
about — no  matter  what — and  had  no  right  to  be  rude  to  Mrs. 
Brandon's  guest." 

"  I  say,  did  you  tell  the  governor  that  you  saw  me  in  Thorn- 
haugh  street  ?"  asks  Hunt. 

"  I  was  very  rude  and  ill-tempered,  and  again  I  confess  I  was 
wrong,"  says  Phil,  boggling  and  stuttering,  and  turning  very  red. 
lie  remembered  his  father's  injunction. 

"  I  say  again,  sir,  did  you  tell  your  father  of  our  meeting  this 
morning?"  demands  the  clergyman. 

M  And  pray,  sir,  what  right,  have  you  to  ask  me  about  ray  pri- 
vate conversation  with  my  father?"  asks  Philip,  with  towering 
dignity. 

kl  You  won't  tell  me  ?  Then  you  have  told  him.  He  '9  a  nice 
man,  your  father  i>.  C-r  a  moral  man." 


104  THE    ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

I 

"  I  am  not  anxious  for  }rour  opinion  about  my  father's  morality, 
Mr.  Hunt,"  says  Philip,  gasping  in  a  bewildered  manner,  and 
drumming  the  table.  "  I  am  here  to  replace  him  in  his  absence, 
and  treat  his  guest  with  civility." 

"  Civility  !  Pretty  civility !"   says  the  other,  glaring  at  him. 

"  Such  as  it  is,  sir,  it  is  my  best,  and — I-4— I  have  no  other," 
groans  the  young  man. 

"  Old  friend  of  your  father's,  a  university  man,  a  Master  of 
Arts,  a  gentleman  born,  by  Jove  !  a  clergyman — though  I  sink 
that— "^ 

"  Yes,  sir,  you  do  sink  that,"  says  Philip. 

"  Am  I  a  dog,"  shrieks  out  the  clergyman,  "  to  be  treated  by 
you  in  this  way  V    Who  arc  you  ?    Do  you  know  who  you  are  ?" 

"  Sir,  I  am  striving  with  all  my  strength  to  remember,"  says 
Philip. 

"  Come  !  I  say  !  don't  try  any  of  .your  confounded  airs  on  me  /" 
shrieks  Hunt,  with  a  profusion  of  oaths,  and  swallowing  glass 
after  glass  from  the  various  decanters  before  him.  "  Hang  me, 
when  I  was  a  young  man,  I  would  have  sent  one — two  at  your 
nob,  though  you  were  twice  as  tall !  Who  are  you,  to  patronize 
your  senior,  your  father's  old  pal — a  university  man  ;  you  con- 
founded, supercilious — " 

"  I  am  here  to  pay  every  attention  to  my  fathers  guest,"  says 
Phil ;  "  but  if  you  have  finished  your  wine,  I  shall  be  happy  to 
break  up  the  meeting  as  early  as  you  please." 

"  You  shall  pay  me  ;  I  swear  you  shall !"  said  Hunt. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hunt !"  cried  Philip,  jumping  up,  and  clenching  his 
great  fists,  "  I  should  desire  nothing  better." 

The  man  shrank  back,  thinking  Philip  was  going  to  strike  him 
(as  Philip  told  me  in  describing  the  scene),  and  made  for  the  bell. 
But  when  the  butler  came,  Philip  only  asked  for  coffee  ;  and 
Hunt,  uttering  a  mad  oath  or  two,  staggered  out  of  the  room  after 
the  servant.  Brice  said  he  had  been  drinking  before  he  came. 
He  was  often  so.  And  Phil  blessed  his'stars  that  he  had  not  as- 
saulted his  father's  g'test  then  and  there,  under  his  own  roof- 
tree. 

He  went  out  into  the  air.  He  gasped  and  cooled  himself  un- 
der the  stars.  He  soothed  his  feelings  by  his  customary  conso- 
lation of  tobacr-o.  Me  remembered  that  Ridley,  in  Thornhaugh 
street,  held  a  divan  that  night ;  and  jumped  into  a  cab,  and  drove 
to  his  old  friend. 

The  maid  of  the  house,  who  came  to  the  door  as  the  cab  was 
driving  away,  stopped  it;  and  as  Phil  entered  the  passage,  he 
found  the  Little  Sister  and  his  father  talking  together  in  the  hall. 
The.  doctor's  broad  hat  shaded  his  face  from  the  hall  lamp,  which 
was  burning  with  an  extra  brightness,  but  Mrs.  Brandon's  was 
very  pale,  and  she  had  been  crying. 

She  crave  a  little  scream  when  she  saw  Phil.  "Ah!  is  it  yon, 
dear  V  she  said     She  ran  up  to  him  :  seized  both  his  hands : 


ON    R18    WAY    THROUGH    THK    WORLD.  105 

clung  to  him,  and  sobbed  a  thousand  hot  tears  on  his  hand.  "  I 
never  will.     Oh,  never,  never,  never !"  she  murmured. 

The  doctor's  broad  chest  heaved  as  with  a  great  sigh  of  relief. 
He  looked  at  the  woman  and  at  his  son  with  a  strange  smile — not 
a  s^eet  smile. 

".God  bless  you,  Caroline,"  he  said,  in  his  pompous,  rather 
theatrical,  way. 

"  Good-night,  sir,"  said^Mrs.  Brandon,  still  clinging  to  Philip's 
hand,  and  making  the  doctor  a  little  humble  courtesy.  And  when 
he  was  gone,  again  she  kissed  Philip's  hand,  and  dropped  her 
tears  on  it,  and  said,  "  Never,  my  dear ;  no,  never,  never !" 


CHAPTER  XL    * 

IN  WHICH  PHILIP  IS  VERY  ILL-TEMPERED. 

Philip  had  long  divined  a  part  of  his  dear  little  friend's  history. 
An  uneducated  young  girl  had  been  found,  cajoled,«deserted  by 
a  gentleman  of  the  world.  And  poor  Caroline  was  the  victim, 
and  Philip's  own  father  the  seducer.  He  easily  guessed  as  much 
as  this  of  the  sad  little  story.  Doctor  Firmin's  part  in  it  was 
enough  to  shock  his  son  with  a  thrill  of  disgust,  and  to  increase 
the  mistrust,  doubt,  alienation,  with  which  the  father  had  long 
inspired  the  son.  What  would  Philip  feel  when  all  the  pages  of 
that  dark  book  were  opened  to  him,  and  he  came  to  hear  of  a 
false  marriage,  and  a  ruined  and  outcast  woman,  deserted  for 
years  by  the  man  to  whom  he  himself  was  most  bound?  In  a 
word,  Philip  had  considered  this  as  a  mere  case  of  early  libertin- 
ism, and  no  more ;  and  it  was  as  such  in  the  very  few  words 
which  he  may  have  uttered  to  me  respecting  this  matter,  that  he 
had  chosen  to  regard  it.  I  knew  no  more  than  my  friend  had 
told  me  of  the  story  as  yet;  it  was  only  by  degrees  that  I  learned 
it,  and  as  events,  now  subsequent,  served  to  develop  and  explain 
it. 

The  elder  Firmin,  when  questioned  by  his  old  acquaintance, 
and,  as  it  appeared,  accomplice  of  former  days,  regarding  the  end 
of  a  certain  intrigue  at  Margate,  which  had  occurred  some  four 
or  five  and  twenty  years  back,  and  when  Firmin,  having  reason 
to  avoid  his  college  creditors,  chose  to  live  away  and  bear  a  false 
name,  had  told  the  clergyman  a  number  of  falsehoods,  which  ap- 
peared to  satisfy  him.  What  had  become  of  that  poor  little 
thing,  about  whom  he  had  made  such  a  fool  of  himself?  Oh,  she 
was  dead,  dead,  ever  so  many  years  before.  He  had  pensioned 
her  off.  She  had  married,  and  died  in  Canada — yes,  in  Canada. 
Poor  little  thing  1  Yes,  she  was  a  good  little  thing,  and,  at  one 
time,  he  had  been  very  soft  about  her.  I  am  sorry  to  have'  to 
10 


106  THF,    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

state  of  a  respectable  gentleman  that  he  told  lies,  and  told  lies 
habitually  and  easily.  But,  you  see,  if  you  commit  a  crime,  and 
break  a  seventh  commandment  let  us  say,  or  an  eighth,  or  choose 
any*number  you  will — you  -will  probably  have  to  back  the  He 'of 
action  by  the  lie  of  the  tongue,  and  so  you  are  fairly  warned,  and 
I  have  no  help  for*you.  If  I  murder  a  man,  and  the  policeman, 
inquires,  "  Pray,  sir,  did  you  cut  this  here  gentleman's  throat  V" 
I  must  bear  false  witness,  you  see,  out  of  self-defence,  though  I 
may  be  naturally  a  most  reliable,  truth-telling  man.  And  so  with 
regard  to  many  crimes  which  gentlemen  commit — it  is  painful  to 
have  to  say  respecting  gentlemen,  but  they  become  neither  more 
nor  less  than  habitual  liars,  and  have  to  go  lying  on  through  life 
to  you,  to  me,  to  the  servants,  to  their  wives,  to  their  children, 

to  O  awful  name !     1  bow  and  humble  myself.     May  we 

kneel,  may  we  kneel,  nor  strive  to  speak  our  falsehoods  before 
Thee!  * 

And  so,  my  dear  sir,  seeing  that  after  committing  any  infrac- 
tion of  the  moral  laws,  you  must  tell  lies  in  order  to  back  your- 
self out  of  your  scrape,  let  me  ask  you,  as  a  man  of  honor  and  a 
gentleman,  wtiether  you  had  not  better  forego  the  crime,  so  as  to 
avoid  the  unavoidable,  and  unpleasant,  and  daily  recurring  ne- 
cessity of  the  subsequent  perjury  V  A  poor  young  girl  of  the  low- 
er orders,  cajoled,  or  ruined,  more  or  less,  is  of  course  no  great 
matter.  The  little  baggage  is  turned  out  of  doors — worse  luck 
for  her— or  she  gets  a  place,  or.  she  marries  one  of  her  own  class, 
who  has  not  the  exquisite  xlelicacy  belonging  to  "  gentle  blood  " 
— and  there  is  an  end  of  her.  But  if  you  marry  her  privately 
and  irregularly  yourself,  and  then  throw  her  off,  and  then  marry 
somebody  else,  you  are  brought  to  book  in  all  sorts  of  unpleasant 
ways.  I  am  writing  of  quite  an  old  story,  be  pleased  to  remem- 
ber. The  first  part  of  the  history  I  myself  printed  some  twenty 
years  ago ;  and  if  you  fancy  J  allude  to  any  more  modern  period, 
madam,  you  are  entirely  out  in  your  conjecture. 

It  must  have  been  a  most  unpleasant  duty  for  a  man  of  fash- 
ion, honor,  and  good  family,  to  lie  to  a  poor  tipsy,  disreputable 
bankrupt  merchant's  daughter  such  as  Caroline  Gann ;  but 
George  Brand  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  had  no  other  choice :  and  * 
when  he  lied — as  in  severe  cases,  when  he  administered  calomel 
— he  thought  it  best  to  give  the  drug  freely.  Thus  he  lied  to 
Hunt,  saying  that  Mrs.  Brandon  was  long  since  dead  in  Canada; 
and  he  lied  to  Caroline,  prescribing  for  her  the  very  same  pill,  as 
it  were,  and  saying  that  Hunt  was  long  since  dead  in  Canada 
too.  And  I  can  fancy  few  more  painful  and  humiliating  positions 
for  a  man  of  rank,  and  fashion,  and  reputation,  than  to  have  to 
demean  himself  so  far  as  to  tell  lies  to  a  little  low-bred  person, 
who  gets  her  bread  as  a  nurse  of  the  sick,  and  has  not  the  proper 
use  of  her  ^'s. 
•   "  Ob,  yes,  Hunt !"  Firmin  had  said  to  the  Little  Sister,  in  one 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THK    WORLD.  107 

of  those  sad  little  colloquies  which  sometimes  took  place  between 
him  and  his  victim,  his  wife  of  old  days;  "a  wild,  bad  man, 
Hunt  was — in  days  when  I  own  I  was  little  better!  I  have  deep- 
ly repented  since,  Caroline  ;  of  nothing  more  than  of  my  conduct 
to  you ;  for  you  were  worthy  of  a  better  fate,  and  you  loved  me 
truly — madly." 

"  \res,"  says  Caroline. 

"  I  was  wild,  then  !  I-  was  desperate  !  I  had  ruined  my  fort- 
unes,  estranged  my  father  from  me,  was  hiding  from  my  credi- 
tors under  an  assumed  name — that  under  which  I  saw  you.  Ah, 
why  did  I  ever  come  to  your  house,  my  poor  child  ?  The  mark 
of  the  demon  was  upon  me.  I  did  not  dare  to  speak  of  marriage 
before  my  father.  You  have  yours,  and  tend  him  with  your  ever 
constant  goodness.  Do  you  know  that  my  father  would  not  see 
me  when  he  died?  Oh,  it  's  a  cruel  thing  to  think  ofl"  And 
the  suffering  creaturcslaps  his  tall  forehead  with  his  trembling 
hand  ;  and  some  of  his  grief  about  his  own  father;  I  dare  say,  is 
sincere,  for  he  feels  the  shame  and  remorse  of  being  'alienated 
from  his  own  son. 

As  for  the  marriage — that  it  was  a  most  wicked  and  unjustifia- 
ble deceit,  he  owned ;  but  he  was  wild  when  it  took  place,  wild 
with  debt  and  with  despair  at  his  father's  estrangement  from  him 
—but  the  fact  was,  it  was  no  marriage. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  sighed  the  poor  Little  Sister. 

11  Why '/"  asked  the  other,  eagerly.  His  love  was  dead,  but 
his  vanity  was  still  hale  and  well.  "  Did  you  care  for  somebody 
else,  Caroline  ?  Did  you  forget  your  George,  whom  you  used 
to—" 

"  No !"  said,  the  little  woman,  bravely.  "  But  I  could  n't  live 
with  a  man  who  behaved  to  any  woman  so  dishonest  as  you  be- 
haved to  me.  Hiked  yon  because  I  thought  you  was  a  gentle- 
man. My  poor  painter  was,  whom  you  used  to  despise  and  tram- 
ple to  hearth — and  my  dear,  dear  Philip  is,  Mr.  Firmin.  But 
gentlemen  tell  the  truth  1  Gentlemen  don't  deceive  poor  inno- 
cent girls,  and  desert  'em  without  a  penny !" 

"  Caroline  1  I  was  driven  by  my  creditors.     I — " 

"  Never  mind.  It  's  over  now.  J  bear  you  no  malice,  Mr. 
Firmin  ;  but  I  would  n't  marry  you — no,  not  to  be  doctor's  wife  to 
the  queen !"     9 

This  had  been  the  Little  Sister's  language  when  there  was  no 
thought  of  the  existence  of  Hunt,  the  clergyman  who  had  celebrat- 
ed their  marriage ;  and  I  don't  know  whether  Firmin  was  most 
piqued  or  pleased  at  the  divorce  which  the  little  woman  pro- 
nounced of  her  own  decree.  *  But  when  the  ill-omened  Hunt 
made  his  appearance,  doubts  and  terrors  filled  the  physician's 
mind.  Hunt  was  needy,  greedy,  treacherous,  unscrupulous,  des- 
perate. He  could  hold  this  marriage  over  the  doctor.  He  could 
threaten,  extort,  expose,  perhaps  invalidate  Philip's  legitimacy. 


108  THE    ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

The  first  marriage,  almost  certainty,  was  null,  but  the  scandal 
-would  be  fatal  to  Firrnin's  reputation  and  practice.  And  the 
quarrel  with  his  son  entailed  consequences  not  pleasant  to  think 
of.  You  see  George  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  was  a  man  with  a  great 
development  of  the  back  head ;  when  he  willed  a  thing,  he  willed 
it  so  fiercely  that  he  must  have  it,  never  mind  the  consequences. 
And  so  he  had  willed  to  make  himself  master  of  poor  little  Caro- 
line :  and  so  he  had  willed,  as  a  young  man,  to  have  horses, 
splendid  entertainments,  roulette,  and  ecarte,  and  so  forth  ;  and 
the  bill  came  at  its  natural  season,  and  George  Firmin,  Esq.,  did 
not  always  like  to  pay.  But  for  a  grand,  prosperous,  highly-bred 
gentleman  in  the  best  society — with  a  polished  forehead  and 
manners,  and  universally  looked  up  to — to  have  to  tell  lies  to  a 
poor,  little,  timid,  uncomplaining,  sick-room  nurse,  it  was  humiliat- 
ing, was  n't  it  ?     And  I  can  feel  for  Firmin. 

To  have  to  lie  to  Hunt  was  disgusting;  but  somehow  not  so 
exquisitely  mean  and  degrading  as  to  have  to  cheat  a  little,  trust- 
ing, humble,  houseless  creature,  over  the  bloom  of  whose  gentle 
young  life  his  accursed  foot  had  already  trampled.  But  then 
this  Hunt  was  such  a  cad  and  ruffian  that  there  need  be  no  scru- 
ple about  humbugging  him;  and  if  Firmin  had  had  any  humor, 
he  might  have  had  a  grim  sort  of  pleasure  in  leading  the  dirty 
clergyman  a  dance  thro'  bush,  thro'  brier.  So,  perhaps  (of 
course  I  have  no  means  of  ascertaining  the  fact),  the  doctor  did 
not  altogether  dislike  the  duty  which  now  devolved  on  him  of 
hood-winking  his  old  acquaintance  and  accomplice.  I  don't  like 
to  use  such  a  vulgar  phrase  regarding  a  man  in  Doctor  Firmin's 
high  social  position,  as  to  say  of  him  and  the  jail-chaplain  that  it 
was  "Thief  catch  thief,"  but  at  any  rate  Hunt  is  such  a  low, 
graceless,  friendless  vagabond,  that  if  he  comes  in  for  a  few  kicks, 
or*  is  mystified,  we  need  not  be  very  sorry.  When  Mr.  Thurteli 
is  hung  we  don't  put  on  mourning.  His  is  a  painful  position  for 
the  moment ;  but,  after  all,  he  bas  murdered  Mr.  William  Weare. 

Firmin  was  a  bold  and  courageous  man,  hot  in  pursuit,  fierce 
in  desire,  but  cool  in  danger,  and  rapid  in  action.  Some  of  his 
great  successes  as  a  physician  arose  from  his  daring  and  success- 
ful practice  in  sudden  emergency.  While  Hunt  was  only  lurch- 
ing about  the  town  an  aimless  miscreant,  living  from  dirty  hand 
to  dirty  mouth,  and  as  long  as  he  could  get  drink,  cards,  and 
shelter,  tolerably  content,  or  at  least  pretty  easily  appeased  by  a 
guinea-dose  or  two — Firmin  could  adopt  the  palliative  system; 
soothe  his  patient  with  an  occasional  bounty ;  set  him  to  sleep 
with  a  composing  draught  of  claret  or  brandy ;  and  let  the  day 
take  care  of  itself.  He  might  die ;  he  might  have  a  fancy  to  go 
abroad  again ;  he  might  be  transported  for  forgery  or  some  other 
rascaldom,  Dr.  Firmin  would  console  himself;  and  he  trusted  to 
the  chapter  of  accidents  to  get  rid  of  his  friend.  But  Hunt, 
aware  that  the  woman  was  alive  whom  he  had  actually,  though 


ON   HTS    WAV    THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  109 

unlawfully,  married  to  Firmin,  became  an  enemy  whom  it  was 
necessary  to  subdue,  to  cajole,  or  to  bribe,  and  the  sooner  the 
doctor  put  hjmself  on  his  defence  the  better.  What  should  the 
defence  be  ?  Perhaps  the  most  effectual  was  a  fierce  attack  on 
the  enemy ;  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  bribe  him.  The  course 
to  be  taken  would  be  best  ascertained  after  a  little  previous  rec- 
onnoitring. 

"  He  will  try  and  inflame  Caroline,"  the  doctor  thought,  "  by 
representing  her  wrongs  and  her  rights  to  her.  He  will  show 
her  that,  as  my  wife,  she  has  a  right  to  my  name  and  a  share  of 
my  income.  A  less  mercenary  woman  never  lived  than  this 
poor  little  Creature.  She  disdains  money,  and,  except  for  her 
father's  sake,  would  have  taken  none  of  mine.  But  to  punish 
me  for  certainly  rather  shabby  behavior  ;  to  claim  and  take  her 
own  right  and  position  in  the  world  as  an  honest  woman,  may 
she  not  be  induced  to  declare  war  against  me,  and  stand  by  her 
marriage  ?  After  she  left  home,  her  two  Irish  half-sisters  de- 
serted her  and  spat  upon  her ;  and  when  she  would  have  return- 
ed, the  heartless  women  drove  her  from  the  door.  Oh,  the 
vixens  I  And  now  to  drive  bv  them  in  her  carriage,  to  claim  a 
maintenance  from  me,  and  to  have  a  right  to  my  honorable 
name,  would  she  not  have  her  dearest  revenge  over  her  sisters 
by  so  declaring  her  marriage  ?" 

Firmin's  noble  mind  misgave  him  very  considerably  on  this 
point.  He  knew  women,  and  how  those  had  treated  their  Little 
Sister.  Was  it  in  human  nature  not  to  be  revenged  V  These 
thoughts  rose  straightway  in  Firmin's  mind,  when  he  heard  that 
the  much-dreaded  meeting  between  Caroline  and  the  chaplain 
had  come  to  pass. 

As  he  ate  his  dinner  with  his  guest,  his  enemy  opposite  to 
him,  he  was  determined  on  his  plan  of  action.  The  screen  was 
up,  and  he  was  laying  his  guns  behind  it,  so  to  speak.  Of  course 
he  was  as  civil  to  Hunt  as  the  tenant  to  his  landlord  when  he 
comes  with  no  rent.  So  the  doctor  laughed,  joked,  bragged, 
talked  his  best,  and  was  thinking  the  while  what  was  to  be  done 
against  the  danger. 

He  had  a  plan  which  might  succeed.  He  must  see  Caroline 
immediately.  He  knew  the  weak  point  of  her  heart,  and  whero 
she  was  most  likely  to  be  vulnerable.  And  he  would  act  against 
her  as  barbarians  of  old  acted  against  their  enemies  when  they 
brought  the  captive  wives  and  children  in  front  of  the  battle, 
and  bade  the  foe  strike  through  them. ,  He  knew  how  Caroline 
loved  his  boy.  It  was  through  that  love  he  would  work  upon 
her.  As  he  washes  his  pretty  hands  for  dinner  and  bathes  his 
noble  brow,  he  arranges  his  little  plan,  lie  orders  "himself  to 
be  sent  for  soon  after  the  second  bottle  of  claret — and  it  appears 
the  doctor's  servants  were  accustomed  to  the  delivery  of  these 
messages  from  their  master  to  himself.     The  plan  arranged,  now 


HO  THE     M'VKNTtfKKrf    OF.  PHI  UP 

let  us  take  our  dinner  and  our  wine,  and  make  ourselves  com- 
fortable until  the  moment  of  action.  In  his  wild-oats  days, 
•when  travelling  abroad  with  wild  and  noble  companions,  Firmin 
had  fought  a  duel  or  two,  and  was  always  remarkable  for  his 
gayety  of  conversation,  and  the  fine  appetite  which  he  showed  at 
breakfast  before  going  on  to  the  field.  So,  perhaps,  Hunt,  had 
he  not  been  stupefied  by  previous  drink,  might  have  taken  the 
alarm  by  remarking  Firmin's  extra  courtesy  and  gayety  as  they 
dined  together.     It  was  nunc  vinum,  eras  ce/juor. 

When  the  second  bottle  of  claret  was  engaged  Dr.  Firmin 
starts.  He  has  an  advance  of  half  an  hour  at  least  on  his  ad- 
versary, or  on  the  man  who  may  be  his  adversary.  If  the  Little 
Sister  is  at  home,  he  will  see  her — he  will  lay  bare  his  candid' 
heart  to  her,  and  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  The  Little  Sister 
was  at  home. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  very  particularly  about  that  case  of 
poor  Lady  Humandhaw,"  says  he,  dropping  his  voice. 

"  I  wili  step  out,  my  dear,  and  take  a  little  fresh  air,"  says 
Captain  Gann  ;  meaning  that  he  will  be  off  to  the  "Admiral 
Byng ;"  and  the  two  are  together.  ^ 

"  I  have  had  something  on  my  conscience.  I  have  deceived 
you,  Caroline,"  says  the  doctor,  with  the  beautiful  shining  fore- 
head and  hat. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Firmin,"  says  she,  bending  over  her  work,  "  you  've 
used  me  to  that." 

"A  man  whom  you  knew  once,  and  who  tempted  me  for  his 
own  selfish  ends  to  do  a  very  wrong  thing  by  you — a  man  whom 
I  thought  dead,  is  alive.  Tufton  Hunt,  who  performed  that — 
that  illegal  ceremony  at  Margate,  of  which  so  often  and  often  on 
my  knees  I  have  repented,  Caroline  !" 

The  beautiful  hands  are  clasped  ;  the  beautiful  deep  voice 
thrills  lowly  through  the  room ;  and  if  a  tear  or  two  can  be 
squeezed  out  of  the  beautiful  eyes,  I  dare  say  the  doctor  will  not 
be  sorry. 

"  He  has  been  here  to-day.  Him  and  Mr.  Philip  was  here 
and  quarrelled.     Philip  has  told  you,  I  suppose,  sir  ?" 

"  Before  Heaven,  'on  the  word  of  a  gentleman,'  when  I  said 
he  was  dead,  Caroline,  I  thought  he  was  dead  !  Yes,  I  declare, 
at  our  college,  Maxwell — Dr.  Maxwell — who  had  been  at  Cam- 
bridge with  us,  told  me  that  our  old  friend  Hunt  had  died  in 
Canada."  (This,  my  beloved  friends  and  readers,  may  not  have 
been  the  precise  long  bow  which  George  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D., 
pulled;  but  that  he  twanged  a  famous  lie  out,  whenever  there 
was  occasion  for  the. weapon,  I  assure  you,  is  an  undoubted  fact.) 
"  Yes,  Dr.  Maxwell  told  me  our  old  friend  was  dead — our  old 
friend?  My  worst. enemy  and  yours!  But  let  that  pass.  It 
was  he,  Caroline,  who  led  me  into  crimes  which  I  have  never 
ceased  to  deplore." 


OH    HIS    WAY     IHK<H..M    TH»' WORLD  111 

4iAh,  Mr.  Firruin,"  sighs  the  Little  Sister,  "  since  I  've  known 
you,  you  was  big  enough  to  take  care  of  yourself  in  that  way." 

"  I  have  not  come  to  excuse  myself,  Caroline,"  says  the  deep 
sweet  voice.  "  I  have  done  you  enough  wrong,  and  I  feel  it 
here — at  this*  heart.  I  have  not  come  to  speak  about  myself,  but 
of  some  one  I  love  the  best  of  all  the  world — the  only  being  I 
do  love — some  one  you  love,  you  good  and  generous  soul — about 
Philip." 

"  What  is  it  about  Philip  ?"  asks  Mrs.  Brandon,  very  quickly. 

"  Do  you  want  harm  to  happen  to  him  V" 

w  OK,  my  darling  boy,  no !''  cries  the  Little  Sister,  clasping  her 
little  hands. 

u  Would  you  keep  him  from  harm  ?" 

"  Ah,  sir,  you  know  I  would.  When  he  had  the  scarlet-fever 
did  n't  I  pour  the  drink  down  his  poor  throat,  and  nurse  him,  and 
tend  him.  as  if — as  a  mother  would  her  own  child  ?" 

M  You  did,  you  did,  you  noble,  noble  woman ;  and  Heaven  bless 
you  for  it !  A  father  does.  I  am  not  all  heartless,  Caroline,  as  you 
deem  me,  perhaps." 

"  I  don't  think  it 's  much  merit  your  loving  him"  says  .Caroline, 
resuming  her  sewing.  And  perhaps  she  thinks  within  herself, 
"  What  is  he  a  coming  to  ?"  You  see  she  was  a  shrewd  little 
person,  when  her  passions  and  partialities  did  not  overcome  her 
reason  ;  and  she  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this  elegant  Dr. 
Firmin,  whom  she  had  admired  so  once,  was  a — not  altogether 
Veracious  gentleman.  In  fact,  I  heard  her  myself  say  afterward, 
"  La  !  he  used  to  talk  so  fine,  and  slap  his  hand  on  his  heart,  you 
know  ;  but  I  used  n't  to  believe  him,  no  more  than  a  man  in  a 
play."  "  It 's  not  much  merit  your  loving  that  boy,"  says  Caroline, 
then.     "  But  what  about  him,  sir  V" 

Then  Firmin  explained.  This  man  Hunt  was  capable  of  any 
crime  for  money  or  revenge.     Seeing  Caroline  was  alive — 

"  I  s'pose  you  told  him  I  was  dead  too,  sir,"  says  she,  looking 
up  from  the  work. 

44  Spare  me,  spare  me !  Years  ago,  perhaps,  when  I  had  lost 
sight  of  you,  I  may,  perhaps,  have  thought — " 

41  And  it  'a  not'to  you,  George  Brandon — it 's  not  to  you,"  cries 
Caroline,  starting  up,  and  speaking  with  her  sweet,  innocent, 
ringing  voice;  "it's  Co  kind,  dear  friends — it's  to  my  good  God 
that.  I  owe  my  lit.-,  which  you  had  flung  it  away.  And  I  paid 
yoi  back  by  guarding  your  boy's  dear  life,  I  did,  under — under 
Him  who  ffiveth  ami  ulceth.  And  bless  His  name"!"  And  she 
:■  hands,  and  thanks, 

11  You  are  a  good  worn  in,  and  I  am  a  bad,  sinful  man,  Caro- 
.■■!      M  Tou  a  ived  my  Philip's — our  Philip's  life, 
at.  the  •  n-     Now  I  tell  you  that  another  immense 

danger  m  maces  him,  and  may  coma  upon  him  any  day  as  long 
B*  yon  mndrel  is-alive.     Suppose  his  character  is  assailed; 

suppose,  thinking  tad,  I  married  another.*' 


112  THE    ADVKK'l  UKUS    OF    PHILIP 

"Ah,  George,  you  never  thought  me  dead;  though,  perhaps, 
you  wished  it,  sir.  And  many  would  have  died,"  added  the  poor 
Little  Sister. 

11  Look,  Caroline  I  If  I  was  married  to  you,  my  wife — Philip's 
mother — was  not  my  wife,  and  he  is  her  natural  son.  The 
property  he  inherits  does  not  belong  to  him.  The  children  of 
his  grandfather's  other  daughter  claim  it,  and  Philip  is  a  beg- 
gar. Philip,  bred  as  he  has  been — Philip,  the  heir  to  a  mother's 
large  fortune — " 

"  And — and  his  father's,  too  ?"  asks  Caroline,  anxiously. 

M  I  dare  n't  tell  you — though,  no,  by  Heavens !  I  can  trust 
you  with  everything.  My  own  great  gains  have  been  swallowed 
up  in  speculations  which  have  been  almost  all  fatal.  There  has 
been  a  fate  hanging  over  me,  Caroline — a  righteous  punishment 
for  having  deserted  you.  I  sleep  with  a  sword  over  my  head, 
which  may  fall  and  destroy  me.  I  walk  with  a  volcano  under 
my  feet,  which  may  burst  any  day  and  annihilate  me.  And 
people  speak  of  the  famous  Dr.  Firmin,  the  rich  Dr.  Firmin,  the 
prosperous  Dr.  Firmin  !  I  shall  have  a  title  soon,  I  believe.  I 
am  believed  to  be  happy,  and  I  am  alone,  and  the  wretchedest 
man  alive." 

"  Alone,  are  you  ?"  said  Caroline.  u  There  was  a  woman  once 
would  have  kept  by  you,  only  you — you  flung  her  away.  Look 
here,  George  Brandon.  It 's  over  with  us.  Years  and  years  ago 
it  lies  where  a  little  cherub  was  buried.  But  1  love  my  Philip  ; 
and  I  won't  hurt  him — no,  never,  never,  never  !" 

And  as  the  doctor  turned  to  go  away  Caroline  followed  him 
wistfully  into  the  hall,  and  it  was  there  that  Philip  found  them. 

Caroline's  tender  u  never,  never,"  rang  in  Philip's  memory  as 
he  sat  at  Ridley's  party,  amidst  the  artists  and  authors  there  as- 
sembled. Phil  was  thoughtful  and  silent.  He  did  not  laugh 
very  loud.  He  did  not  praise  or  abuse  anybody  outrageously, 
as  was  the  wont  of  that  most  emphatic  young  gentleman.  He 
scarcely  contradicted  a  single  person  ;  and  perhaps,  when  Lark* 
ius  said  Scumble's  last  picture  was  beautiful,  or  Bunch,  the  critic 
of  the  Connoisseur,  praised  Bowman's  last  novel,  contented  him- 
self with  a  scornful  "  Ho!"  and  a  pull  at  his  whiskers,  by  way  of 
protest  and  denial.  Had  he  been  in  his  usual  fine  spirits,  and 
enjoying  his  ordinary  flow  of  talk,  he  would  have  informed 
Larkins  and  the  assembled  company  not  only  that  Scumble  was 
an  impostor,  but  that  he,  Larkins,  was  an  idiot  for  admiring  him. 
He  would  Have  informed  Bunch  that  he  was  infatuated  about 
that  jackass  Bowman,  that  cockney,  that  wretched  ignoramus, 
who  did  n't  know  his  own  or  any  other  language.  He  would 
have  taken  down  one  of  Bowman's  stories  from  the  shelf,  and 
proved  the  folly,  imbecility,  and  crass  ignorance  of  that  author. 
(Ridley  has  a  simple  little  stock  of  novels  and  poems  in  an  old 
cabinet  in  his  studio,  and  reads  them  still  with  much  artless  won- 
der and  respect.)     Or,  to  be  sure,  Phil  would  have  asserted 


■? 


. 


/vu/rst:  and   oocron 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    TUB    WORLD.  US 

propositions  the  exact  contrary  of  those  here  maintained,  and 
declared  that  Bowman  was  a  genius,  and  Scumble  a  most  accom- 
plished artist.  But  then,  you  know,  somebody  else  must  have 
commenced  by  taking  the  other  hide.  Certainly  a  more  para- 
doxical, and  provoking,  and  obstinate,  and  contradictory  dis- 
putant than  Mr.  Phil  I  never  knew.  I  never  met  Dr.  Johnson, 
who  died  before  I  came  up  to  town  ;  but  I  do  believe  Phil  Fir- 
min  would  have  stood  up  and  argued  even  with  Mm. 

At  these  Thursday  divans  the  host  provided  the  modest  and 
kindly  refreshment,  and  Betsy  the  maid,  or  Virgilio  the  model, 
travelled  to  and  fro  with  glasses  and  water.  Each  guest  brought 
his  own  smoke,  and  I  promise  you  there  were  such  liberal  con- 
tributions of  the  article  that  the  studio  was  full  of  it ;  and  new- 
comers used  to  be  saluted  by  a  roar  of  laughter  as  you  heard, 
rather  than  saw,  them  entering,  and  choking  in  the  fog.  It  was, 
"  Holloa,  Prodgers  !  is  that  you,  old  boy  r*  and  the  beard  of 
Prodgers  (that  famous  sculptor)  would  presently  loom  through 
the  cloud.  It  was,  "  Newcome,  how  goes  ?"  and  Mr.  Clive  New- 
come  (a  mediocre  artist,  I  must  own,  but  a  famous  good  fellow, 
with  an  uncommonly  pretty  villa  and  pretty  and  rich  wife  at 
Wimbledon)  would  make  his  appearance,  and  be  warmly  greet- 
ed by  our  little  host.  It  was,  "Is  that  you,  F.  B.?  would  you 
like  a  link,  old  boy,  to  see  you  through  the  fog  V"  And  the  deep 
voice  of  Frederick  Bayham,  Esquire  (the  eminent  critic  on  Art), 
would  boom  out  of  the  tobacco-mist,  and  would  exclaim,  "  A 
link  ?  I  would  like  a  drink."  Ah,  ghosts  of  youth,  again  ye 
draw  near!  Old  figures  glimmer  through  the  cloud.  Old  songs 
echo  out  of  the  distance.  What  were  you  saying  anon  about 
Dr.  Johnson,  boys?  I  am  sure. some  of  us  must  remember  him. 
As  for  me,  I  am  so  old  that  I  might  have  been  at  Edial  school — 
the  other  pupil  along  with  little  Davy  Garrick  and  his  brother.. 

We  had  a  bachelor's  supper  in  the  Temple  so  lately  that  I 
think  we  must  pay  but  a  very  brief  visit  to  a  smoking  party  in 
Thornhaugh  street,  or  the  ladies  will  say  that  we  are  too  fond  of 
bachelor  habits,  and  keep  our  friends  away  from  their  charming 
and  amiable  society.  A  novel  must  not  smell  of  cigars  much, 
nor  should  its  refined  and  genteel  page  be  stained  with  too  fre- 
quent brandy-and-water.  Please  to  imagine,  then,  the  prattle 
of  the  artists,  authors,  and  amateurs  assembled  at  Ridley's  divan. 
Fanuy  Jarman,  the  miniature  painter,  drinking  more  Heritor  than 
any  man  present,  asking  his  neighbor  (sub  voce)  why  Ridley  does 
not  give  his  father  (the  old  butler)  five  shillings  to  wait;  sug- 
gesting that  perhaps  the  old  man  is  gone  out,  and  is  getting 
seven-and-sixpence  elsewhere ;  praising  Ridley's  picture  aloud, 
ami  sneering  at  it  in  an  undertone  ;  and  when  a  man  of  rank 
happens  to  enter  the  room,  shambling  up  to  him,  and  fawning  on 
him,  and  cringing  to  him  with  fulsome  praise  and  flattery. 
When  the  gentleman's  back  is  turned,  Jarman  can  spit  epigrams 


114  TUB    ADVJENTURKS    OF    PHILIP 

at  it.  I  hope  he  will  never  forgive  Ridley,  and  always  contiuue 
to  hate  him :  for  hate  him  Jarom.n  will,  as  long  as  he  is  prosper-  * 
ou's,  and  curse  him  as  long  as  the  world  esteems  him.  Look  at 
Pym,  the  incumbent  of  Saint  Bronze  hard  by,  coming  in  to  join 
the  literary  and  artistic  assembly,  and  choking  in  his  white  neck- 
cloth to  the  diversion  of  all  the  company  who-ean  see  him  !  Six- 
teen, eighteen,  twenty  men  are  assembled.  Open  the  windows, 
or  sure  they  will  all  be  stilled  with  the  smoke  !  Why,  it  (ills  the 
whole  house  so  that  the  Little  Sister  has  to  open  her  parlor  win- 
dow on  the  ground-floor  and  gasp  for  fresh  air. 

Phil's  head  and  cigar  are  thrust  out  from  a  window  above, 
and  he  lolls  there,  musing  about  his  own  affairs,  as  his  smoke 
ascends  to  the  skies.  Young  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  is  known  to  be 
wealthy,  and  his  father  gives  very  good  parties  in  Old  Parr  street, 
so  Jarman  sidles  up  to  Phil  and  wants  a  little  fresh  air  too.  He 
enters  into  conversation  by  abusing  Ridley's  picture  that  is  oa 
the  easel. 

"Everybody  is  praising  it;  what  do  you  think  of  it,  Mr.  Fir- 
min ?     Very  queer  drawing  about  those  eyes,  is  n't  there  ?" 
•     "  Is  there  ?"  growls  Phil. 

"  Very  loud  color." 

"  Oh  f"  says  Phil. 

"  The  composition  is  so  clearly  prigged  from  Raphael." 

"  Indeed  !" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  don't  think  you  know  who  I  am,"  con- 
tinues the  other,  with  a  simper. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  says  Phil,  glaring  at  hini.  "You  're  a  painter, 
and  your  name  is  Mr.  Envy." 

"  Sir  I"  shrieks  the  painter ;  but  he  is  addressing  himself  to  the 
tails  of  Phil's  coat;  the  superior  half  of  Mr.  Firmin's  body  is 
stretching  out  of  the  window.  Now,  you  may  speak  of  a  man 
behind  his  back,  but  not  to  him.  So  Mr.  Jarman  withdraws, 
and  addresses  himself,  face  to  face,  to  somebody  else  in  the  com- 
pany. I  dare  say  he  abuses  that  upstart,  impudent,  bumptious 
young  doctor's  son.  Have  I  not  owned  that  Philip  was  often 
very  rude  ?  and  to-night  he  is  in  a  specially  bad  humor. 

As  he  continues  to  stare  into  the  street,  who  is  that  who  has 
just  reeled  up  to  the  railings  below,  and  is  talking  in  at  Mrs. 
Brandon's  window?  Whose  blackguard  voice  and  laugh  are 
those  which  Phil  recognizes  with  a  shudder  V  It  is  the  voice  and 
laugh  of  our  friend  Mr.  Hunt,  who  in  Philip  left,  not  very  long  since, 
near  his  father's  house  in  Old  Parr  street;  and  both  of  those  fa- 
miliar sounds  are  more  vinous,  more  odious,  more  impudent  than 
they  were  even  two  hours  ago. 

"  Holloa  !  I  say  ! '  he  calls  out'with  a  laugh  and  a  curse.  "  Pst  1 
Mrs.  Whatdyoucallem !  Hang  it!  don't  shut  the  window.  Let 
a  fellow  in!"  and  as  he  looks  toward  the  upper  window,  where 
Philip's  head  and  bust  appear  dark  before  the  light,  Hunt  cries 


OX    Hr*    WAY    THROUGH     PH»i    WoKI.D.  tt$ 

eat,  "Holloa!  what  game  's  ap  now,  I  wonder?  Supper  and 
ball.  Should  n'fbe  surprised."  And  he  Hiccups  a  waltz  tune, 
and  clatters  time  to  it  with  his  dirty  boots. 
•  "  Mrs.  Whatdyoucall !  Mrs.  B  — !"  the  sot  then  recommences  to 
shriek  out.  "  Must  see  you — most  particular  business.  Private 
and  confidential.  Hear  of  something  to  your  advantage."  And 
rap,  rap,  rap,  he  is  now  thundering  at  the  door.  In  the  clatter 
of  twenty  voices  few  hear  Hunt's  noise  except  Philip  ;  or,  if  they 
do,  only  imagine  that  another  of  Ridley's  guests  is  arriving. 

At  the  hall  door  there  is  talk  and  altercation,  and  the  high 
shriek  of  a  well-known  odious  voice.  Philip  moves  quickly  from 
his  window,  shoulders  friend  Jarman  at  the  studio  door,  and 
hustling  past  him  obtains,  no  doubt,  more  go*od  wishes  from  that 
ingenious  artist.  Philip  is  so  rude  and  overbearing  that  I  really 
have  a  mind  to  depose  him  from  his  place  of  hero — only,  you 
see,  we  are  committed.  His  name  is  on  the  page  overhead,  and 
we  can't  take  it  down  and  put  up  another.  The  Little  Sister  is 
standing  in  her  hall  by  the  just  opened  door,  and  remonstrating 
with  Mr.  Hunt,  who  appears  to  wish  to  force  his  way  in. 

"  Pooh  !  shtulf,  my  dear !  If  he  's  here  I  musht  see  him — par- 
ticular business — get  out  of  that !"  and  he  reels  forward  and 
against  little  Caroline's  shoulder. 

"  Get  away,  you  brute,  you  !"  cries  the  little  lady.  "  Go  home, 
Mr.  Hunt;  you  are  worse  than  you  were  this  morning."  She 
is  a  resolute  little  woman,  and  puts  out  a  firm  little  arm  against 
this  odious  invader.  She  has  seen  patients  in  hospital  raging 
in  fever  :  she  is"  not  frightened  by  a  tipsy  man.  "  La  !  is  it  you , 
Mr.  Philip  ?  Who  ever  will  take  this  horrid  man  ?  He  ain't  fi  t 
to  go  up  stairs  among  the  gentlemen;  indeed  he  ain't." 

"  You  said  Firmin  was  here — and  it  is  n't  the  father.  It  ,'s 
the  cub-!  I  want  the  doctor.  Where's  the  doctor?"  hiccups 
the  chaplain,  lurching  against  the  wall ;  and  then  he  looks  at 
Philip  with  bloodshot  eyes  that  twinkle  hate.  "  Who  wantsh 
you,  I  shlike  to  know?  Had  enough  of  you  already  to-day. 
Conceited  brute.  Don't  look  at  me  in  that  sortaway  !  I  ain't 
afraid  of  you — ain't  afraid  of  anybody.  Time  was  when  I  was  a 
young  man  fight  you  as  soon  as  look  at  you.     I  say,  Philip  !" 

*  Go  home,  now.  Do  go  home,  there's  a  good  man,"  says 
the  landlady. 

"  I  say  !  Look  here — hie — hi !  Philip  !  On  your  word  as  a 
gentleman,  your  father's  not  here?  He's  a  sly  old  boots, 
Brummell  Firmin  is — Trinity  man — I  'm  not  a  Trinity  man — 
Corpus  man.  I  say,  Philip,  gives  us  your  hand.  Bear  no  mal- 
ice. Look  here — something  very  particular.  After  dinner — 
went  into  Air  street — you  know — rouge  f/a</n<?,et  couleur — -cleaned 
out.  Cleaned  out,  on  the  honor  of  a  gentleman  and  master  of 
arts  of  the  University  of  Cambridge.  S.)  was  your  father — no, 
he  went  out  in  medicine.     I  say,  Philip,  hand  us  out  live  sov- 


116  THE    ADVENTUHES    OF    PHILIP 

ereigns,  and  let 's  try  the  luck  again  !  What,  you  won't  ?  It 's 
mean,  I  say.     Don't  be  mean." 

"  Oh,  here  's  five  shillings  !  Go  and  have  a  cab.  Fetch  a  cab 
for  him,  Virgilio,  do  1"  cries  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

il  That 's  not  enough,  my  dear  !"  cries  the  chaplain,  advanc- 
ing toward  Mrs.  Brandon  with  such  a  leer  and  air  that  Philip, 
half-choked  with  passion,  runs  forward,  grips  Hunt  by  the  collar, 
and  crying  out,  ."  You  filthy  scoundrel !  as  this  is  not  my  house, 
I  may  kick  you  out  of  it !" — in  another  instant  has  run  Hunt 
through  the  passage,  hurled  him  down  the  steps,  and  sent  him 
sprawling  into  the  kennel. 

"  Row  down  below,"  says  Rosebury,  placidly,  looking  from 
above.  "  Personal  conflict.  Intoxicated  individual — in  gutter. 
Our  impetuous  friend  has  floored  him." 

Hunt,  after  a  moment,  sits  up  and  glares  at  Philip.  He  is 
not  hurt.  Perhaps  the  shock  has  sobered  him.  He  thinks,  per- 
haps, Philip  is  going  to  strike  again.  "  Hands  off,  bastard  1" 
shrieks  out  the  prostrate  wretch. 

"  Oh,  Philip,  Philip  !  he  's  tnad,  he  's  tipsy  1"  cries  out  the 
Little  Sister,  running  into  the  street.  She  puts  her  arms  round 
Philip.  "  Don't  mind  him,  dear — he  's  mad  !  Policeman  !  The 
gentleman  has  had  too  much.     Come  in,  Philip  ;  come  in  !" 

She  took  him  into  her  little  room.  She  was  pleased  with  the 
gallantry  of  the  boy.  She  liked  to  see  him  just  now,i6tanding 
over  her  enemy,  courageous,  victorious,  her  champion.  "  La  ! 
how  savage  he  did  look ;  and  how  brave  and  strong  you  are ! 
But  the  little"  wretch  ain't  fit  to  stand  before  such  as  you  !"  And 
she  passed  her  little  hand  down  his  arm,  of  which  the  muscles 
were  all  in  a  quiver  from  the  recent  skirmish. 

"  What  did  the  scoundrel  mean  by  calling  me  bastard  ?"  said 
Philip,  the  wild  blue  eyes  glaring  round  about  with  more  than 
ordinary  fierceness. 

"  Nonsense,  dear  !.  Who  minds  anything  he  says,  that  beast  ? 
His  language  is  always  horrid  ;  he 's  not  a  gentleman.  He  had 
had  too  much  this  morning  when  he  was  here.  What  matters 
what  he  says  V  He  won't  know  anything  about  it  to-morrow. 
But  it  was  kind  of  my  Philip 'to  rescue  his  poor  little  nurse, 
was  n't  it  ?  Like  a  novel.  Come  in,  and  let  me  make  you  some 
tea.  Don't  go  to  no  more  smoking :  you  have  had  enough. 
Come  in  and  talk  to  me." 

And  as  a  mother,  with  sweet,  pious  face,  yearns  to  her  little 
children  from  her  seat,  she  fondles  him,  she  watches  him ;  she 
fills  her  teapot  from  her  singing  kettle.  She  talks — talks  in  her 
homely  way,  and  on  this  subject  and  that.  It  is  a  wonder  how 
she  prattles  on,  who  is  generally  rather  silent.  She  won't  see 
PhiPs'eyes,  which  are  following  her  about  very  strangely  and 
fiercely.  And  when  again  he  mutters,  "  What  did  he  mean 
by ...... "  "  La,  my  dear,  how  cross  you  are  !"  she  breaks  out. 


ON    HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  117 

"  It 's  always  so ;  you  won't  be  happy  without  your  eigafr.  Hero  's 
a  cheroot,  a  beauty  !  Pa  brought  it  home  from  the  club.  A  China 
captain  gave  him  some.  You  must  light  it  at  the  little  end. 
There  !"  And  if  I  could  draw  the  picture  which  my  mind  sees 
of  her  lighting  Phil's  cheroot  for  him,  and  smiling  the  while, 
the  little  innocent  Delilah  coaxing  and  wheedling  this  young 
Samson,  I  know  it  would  be  a  pretty  picture.  I  wish  Ridley 
would  sketch  it  for  me. 


CHAPTER  XTI. 

DAMOCLES. 

On  the  next  morning,  at  an  hour  so  early  that  Old  Parr 
street  was  scarce  awake,  and  even  the  maids  who  wash  the  broad 
steps  of  the  houses  of  the  tailors  and  medical  gentlemen  who  in- 
habit that  region  had  not  yet  gone  down  on  (heir  knees  before 
their  respective  doors,  a  ring  was  heard  at  Dr.  Firmin's  night 
bell,  and  when  the  door  was  opened  by  the  yawning  attendant, 
a  little  person  in  a  gray  gown  and  a  black  bonnet  made  her  ap- 
pearance, handed  a  note  to  the  servant,  and  said  the  case  was 
most  urgent  and  the  doctor  must  come  at  once.  Was  not  Lady 
Humandhaw  the  noble  person  whom  we  last  mentioned  as  the 
invalid  ab«ut  whom  the  doctor  and  the  nurse  had  spoken  a  few 
words  on  the  previous  evening?  The  Little  Sister,  for  it  was 
she,  used  the  very  same  name  to  the  servant,  who  retired  grum- 
bling to  waken  up  his  master  and  deliver  the  note. 

Nurse  Brandon  sate  a  while  in  the  great  gaunt  dining-room 
where  hung  the  portrait  of  the  doctor  in  his  splendid  black  col- 
lar and  cuffs,  and  contemplated  this  master-piece  until  an  inva- 
sion of  housemaids  drove  her  from  the  apartment,  when  she  took 
refuge  in  that  other  little  room  to  which  Mrs.  Firmin's  portrait 
had  been  consigned. 

"That's  like  him  ever  so  many  years  and  years  ago,"  she 
thinks.  "  It  is  a  little  handsomer ;  but  it  has  his  wicked  look 
that  I  used  to  think  so  killing,  and  so  did  my  sisters  both  of 
them — they  were  ready  to  tear  out  each  other's  eyes  for  jeal- 
ousy. And  that 's  Mrs.  Firmin's  1  Well,  I  suppose  the  painter 
have  n't  nattered  her.  If  he  have  she  could  have  been  no  great 
things,  Mrs.  F.  could  n't.  And  the  doctor,  entering  softly  by 
the  opened  door  and  over  the  thick  Turkey  carpet,  comes  up  to 
her  noiseless,  and  finds  the  Little  Sister  gazing  at  the  portrait 
of  the  departed  lady. 

"  Oh  1  it 's  you,  is  it  ?  I  wonder  whether  you  treated  her  no 
better  than  you  treated  me,  Dr.  F.  I  've  a  notion  she 's  not  the 
only  one.  She  don't  look  happy,  poor  thing  1"  says  the  little 
lady. 


118  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  What  is  it,  Caroline  ?"  asks  the  deep-voiced  doctor  ;  "  and 
what  brings  you  so  early  V" 

The  Little*  Sister  then  explains  to  him.  "  Last  night,  after  he 
went  away,  Hunt  came  sure  enough.  He  had  been  drinking. 
He  was  very  rude,  and  Philip  would  n't  bear  it.  Philip  had  a 
good  courage  of  hh  own  and  a  hot  blood.  And  Philip  thought 
Hunt  was  insulting  her,  the  Little  Sister.  So  he  up  with  his 
hand  and  down  goes  Mr.  Hunt  on  the  pavement:  Well,  when 
he  was  down  he  was  in  a  dreadful  way,  and  he  called  Philip  a 
dreadful  name." 

"  A  name  V  what  name  ?"  Then  Caroline  told  the  doctor  the 
name  Mr.  Hunt  had  used  ;  and  if  Firmin's  face  usually  looked 
wicked,  I  dare  say  it  did  not  seem  very  angelical  when  he  heard 
how  this  odious*  name  had  been-  applied  to  his  son.  "  Can  he  do 
Philip  a  mischief?"  Caroline  continued.  "I  thought  I  was 
bound  to  tell  his  father.  Look  here,  Dr.  F.,  I  don't  want  to  do 
my  dear  boy  a  harm.  But  suppose  what  you  told  me  last 
night  is  n't  true — as  I  don't  think  you  much  mind — mind- — say- 
ing things  as  are  incorrect,  you  know,  when  us  women  are  in  the 
case.  But  suppose  when  you  played  the  villain,  thinking  only 
to  take  in  a  poor  innocent  girl  of  sixteen,  it  was  you  who  were 
took  in,  and  that  I  was  your  real  wife  after  all  ?  There  would 
be  a  punishment !" 

"  1  should  have  an  honest  and  good  w>ife,  Caroline,"  said  the 
doctor,  with  a  groan.  » 

"  This  would  be  a  punishment,  not  for  you,  but  for  my  poor 
Philip/'  the  woman  goes  on.  "  What  has  he  done  that  his  honest 
name  should  be  took  from  him — and  his  fortune  perhaps  ?  I 
have  been  lying  broad  awake  all  night  thinking  of  him.  Ah, 
■  George  Brandon !  Why,  why  did  you  come  to  my  poor  old 
father's  house,  and  bring  this  misery  down  on  me,  and  on  your 
child  unborn  ?" 

"  On  myself  the  worst  of  all,"  says  the  doctor. 

u  You  deserve  it.  But  it's  us  innocent  that  has  had,  or  will 
have,  to  suffer  most.  Oh,  George  Brandon  !  Think  of  a  poor 
child,  flung  away,  and  left  to  starve  and  die,  without  even  so 
much  as  knowing  your  real  name  !  Think  of  your  boy,  perhaps 
brought  to  shame  and  poverty  through  your  fault  I" 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  often  think  of  my  wrong  ?"  says  the 
doctor.  "  That  it  does  not  cause  me  sleepless  nights,  and  hours 
of  anguish  ?  Ah  !  Caroline !"  and  he  looks  in  the  glass ;  "  I  am 
not  shaved,  and  it 's  very  unbecoming,"  he  thinks;  that  is,  if  I 
may  dare  to  read  his  thoughts,  as  I  do  to  report  his  unheard 
words. 

"  You  think  of  your  wrong  now  it  may  be  found  out,  I  dare 
say  !"  says  Caroline.  "  Suppose  this  Hunt  turns  against  you  ? 
He  is  desperate ;  mad  for  drink  and  money ;  has  been  in  jail — 
as  be  said  this  very  night  to  me  and  my  pa.      He  '11  do  or  say 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROLTrU    THE    WORLD.  119 

anything.  If  you  treat  him  hard,  and  Philip  have  treated  him 
hard — not  harder  than  served  him  right,  though — he  '11  pull  the 
house  down  and  himself  under  it,  but  he  '11  be  revenged.  Per- 
haps he  drank  so  much  last  night  that  he  may  have  forgot.  But 
I  fear  he  means  mischief,  and  I  came  here  to  say- so,  and  hoping 
that  you  might  be  kept  on  your  guard,  Doctor  R,  and  if  you  have 
to  quarrel  with  him,  I  don't  know  what  you  ever  will  do,  I  am 
sure — no  more  than  if  you  had  to  fight  a  chimney-sweep  in  the 
street.  I  have  been  awake  all  night  thinking,  and  as  soon  as 
ever  as  I  saw  the  daylight  I  determined  I  would  run  and  tell  you." 

u  When  he  called  Philip  that  name,  did  the  boy  seem  much  dis- 
turbed V"  asked  the  doctor. 

'  '•'  Yes;  he  referred  to  it  again  and  again — though  I  tried  to 
coax  him  out  of  it.  But  it  was  on  his  mind  last  night,  and  I  am 
sure  he  will  think  of  it  the  first  thing  this  morning.  Ah  yes,  doc- 
tor !  "conscience  will  sometimes  let  a  gentleman  doze  ;  but  after 
discovery,  has  come,  and  opened  your  curtains,  and  said,  4  You 
desired  to  be  called  early  1'  there  's  little  use  in  trying  tb  sleep 
much.  You  look  very  much  frightened,  Doctor  P.,"  the  nurse 
continues.  "  You  have  n't  such  a  courage  as  Philip  has  ;  or  as 
you  had  when  you  were  a  young  man,  and  came  a  leading  poor 
girls  astray.  .You  used  to  be  afraid  of  nothing  then.  Do  you 
remember  that  fellow  on  board  the  steamboat  in  Scotland  in  our 
wedding-trip,  and,  la,  I  thought  you  was  going  to  kill  him.  That 
poor  little  Lord  Cinqbarstold  me  ever  so  many  stories  then  about 
your  courage  and  shooting  people.  It  was  n't  very  courageous, 
leaving  a  poor  girl  without  even  a  name,  and  scarce  a  guinea, 
was  fl  ?  But  I  ain't  come  to  call  up  old  stories — only  to  warn  you. 
Even  in  old  times,  when  he  married  us,  and  I  thought  he  was  do- 
ing a  kindness,  I  never  could  abide  this  horrible  man.  In  Scot- 
land, when  you  was  away  shooting  with  your  poor  little  lord,  the 
things  Hunt  used  to  say  and  look  was  dreadful.  I  wonder  how 
ever  you,  who  were  gentlemen,  could  put  up  with  such  a  fellow  ! 
Ah,  that  was  a  sad  honey-moon  of  ours!  I  wonder  why  I'm 
a  thinking  of  it  now  ?  I  suppose  it 's  from  having  seen  the  picture 
of  the  other  'one — poor  lady  !" 

"  I  have  told  you,  Caroline,  that  I  was  so  wild  and  desperate 
at  that  unhappy  time,  I  was  scarcely  accountable  for  my  actions. 
If  I  left  you,  it  was  because  I  had  no  other  resource  but  flight.  I 
was  a  ruined,  penniless  man  but  for  my  marriage  with  Louisa 
Ringwood.  You  don't  suppose  the  marriage  was  happy?  Hap- 
py 1  when  have  I  ever  been  happy '?  My  lot  is  to  be  wretched, 
and  bring  wretchedness  down  on  those  I  love  !  On  you,  on  my 
father,  on  my  wife,  on  myboy — I  am  a  doomed  man  !  Ah  that 
the  innocent  should  suffer  for  me  1"  And  our  friend  looks  askance 
in  the  glass  at  the  blue  chin  and  hollow  eyes  which  make  his  guilt 
look  the  more  haggard. 

M  I  never  had  my  lines,"  the  Little  Sister  continued  ;  "  I  never 


120  THE    AD  VENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

knew  there  were  papers,  or  writings,  or  anything  bnt  a  ring  and 
a  clergyman,  when  you  married  me.  But  I've  heard  tell  that 
people  in  Scotland  don't  want  a  clergyman  at  all ;  and  if  they 
call  themselves  man  and  wife,  they  are  man  and  wife.  Now,  sir, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brandon  certainly  did  travel  together  in  Scotland 
— witness  that  mall  whom  you  were  going  to  throw  into  the  lake 
for  being  rude  to  your  wife — and.  ; ....  La  !  Don't  fly  out  so !  It 
was  n't  me,  a  poor  girl  of  sixteen,  who  did  wrong.  It  was  you, 
a  man  of  the  world,  who  was  years  and  years  older." 

When  Brandon  carried  olf  his  poor  little  victim  and  wife,  there 
had  been  a  journey  to  Scotland,  where  Lord  Cinqbars,  then  alive, 
had  sporting  quarters.  His  lordship's  chaplain,  Mr.  Hunt,  had 
been  of  the  party,  which  fate  very  soon  afterward  separated. 
Death  seized  on  Cinqbars  at  Naples.  Debt  caused  Firmin — 
Brandon,  as  he  called  himself  then — 4o  fly  the  country.  The 
chaplain  wandered  from  jail  to  jail.  And  as  for  poor  little  Caro- 
line Brandon,  I  suppose  the  husband  who  had  married  her  under 
a  false  rtame  thought  that  to  escape  her,  leave  her,  and  disown 
her  altogether,  was  an  easier  and  less  dangerous  plan  than  to  con- 
tinue relations  with  her.  *  So  one  day,  four  months  after  their 
marriage,  the  young  couple  being  then  at  Dover,  Caroline's  hus- 
band happened  to  go  out  for  a  walk.  But  he  sent  away  a  port- 
manteau by  the  back  door  when  he  went  out  for  the  walk,  and 
as  Caroline  was  waiting  for  her  little  dinner  some  hours  after,  the 
porter  who  carried  the  luggage  came  with  a  little  note  from  her 
clearest  G.  B. ;  and  it  was  full  of  little  fond  expressions  of  regard 
and  affection,  such  as  gentlemen  put  into  little  notes ;  but  dear- 
est G.  B.  said  the  bailiffs  were  upon  him,  and  one  of  them*had 
arrived  that  morning,  and  he  must  fly:  and  he  took  half  the 
money  he  had,  and  left  half  for  his  little  Carry.  And  he  would 
be  back  soon  and  arrange  matters,  or  tell  her  where  to  write  and 
follow  Jiim.  And  she  was  to  take  care  of  her  little  health,  and 
to  write  a  great  deal  to  her  Georgy.  And  she  did  not  know  how 
to  write  very  well  then ;  but  she  did  her  best,  and  improved  a 
great  deal ;  for,  indeed,  she  wrote  a«  great  deal,  poor  thing. 
Sheets  and  sheets  of  paper  she  blotted  with  ink  and  tears.  And 
then  the  money  was  spent ;  and  the  next  money ;  and  no  more 
came,  and  no  more  letters.  And  she  was  alone  at  sea,  sinking, 
sinking,  when  it  pleased  Heaven  to  send  that  friend  who  rescued 
her.  It  is  such  a  sad,  sad  little  story,  that  in  fact  I  don't  like  dwell- 
ing on  it;  not  caring  to  look  upon  poor,  innocent,  trusting  creat- 
ures in  pain. 

Well,  then,  when  Caroline  exclaimed-,  "  La!   don't  fly 

out  so,  Dr.  Firmin  !"  I  suppose  the  doctor  had  been  crying  out, 
and  swearing  fiercely,  at  the  recollections  of  his  friend  Mr.  Bran- 
don, and  at  the  danger  which  possibly  hung  over  that  gentleman. 
Marriage  ceremonies  are  dangerous  risks  in  jest  or  in  earnest. 
You  can't  pretend  to  marry  even  a  poor  old  bankrupt  lodging- 


Fl:  S 


C 


A/£//?S£       C  OAXf  N  G  . 


ON   HIS    WAY    THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  121 

house  keeper's  daughter  without  some  risk  of  being  brought  sub- 
sequently to  book.  If  you  have  a  vulgar  wife  alive,  and  afterward 
choose  to  leave  her  and  marry  an  earl's  niece,  you  will  come  to 
trouble,  however  well  connected  you  are  and  highly  placed  in  so- 
ciety. If  you  have  had  thirty  thousand  pounds  with  wife  No.  2, 
and  have  to  pay  it  back  on  a  sudden,  the  payment  may  be  in- 
convenient. You  inay  be  tried  for  bigamy,  and  sentenced, 
goodness  knows  to  what  punishment.  At  any  rate,  if  the  matter 
is  made  public,  and  you  are  a  most  respectable  man,  moving  in 
the  highest  scientific  and  social  circles,  those  circles  may  be  dis- 
posed to  request  you  to  walk  out  of  their  circumference.  A  nov- 
elist, I  know,  ought  to  have  no  likes,  dislikes,  pity,  partiality  for 
his  characters  ;  but  I  declare  I  can  not  help  feeling  a  respectful 
compassion  for  a  gentleman  who,  in  consequence  of  a  youthful, 
and,  I  am  sure,  sincerely  regretted  folly,  may  be  liable  to  lose  his 
fortune,  his  place  in  society,  and  his  considerable  practice.  Pun- 
ishment has  n't  a  right  to  come  with  such  a  pede  claudo.  There 
ought  to  be  limitations,  and  it  is  shabby  and  revengeful  of  Jus- 
tice to  present  her  little  bill  when  it  has  been  more  than  twenty 

years  owing Having  hafl  his  talk  out  with  the  Little  Sister, 

having  a  long  past  crime  suddenly  taken  down  from  the  shelf; 
having  a  remorse,  long  since  supposed  to  be  dead  and  buried,  sud- 
denly starting  up  in  the  most  blustering,  boisterous,  inconvenient 
manner ;  having  a  rage  and  terror  tearing  him  within ;  I  can 
fancy  this  most  respectable  physician  going  about  his  day's  work, 
and  most  sincerely  sympathize  with  him.  Who  is  to  heal  the 
physician  V  Is  he  not  more  sick  at  heart  than  most  of  his  patients 
that  day  ?  He  has  to  listen  to  Lady  Megrim  cackling  for  half  an 
hour  at  least,  and  describing  her  little  ailments.  He  has  to  listen, 
and  never  once  to  dare  to  say,  "  Confound  you,  old  chatter-box  ! 
What  are  you  prating  about  your  ailments  to  me,  who  am  suffer- 
ing real  torture  while  I  am  smirking  in  your  face  ?"  He  has  to 
wear  the  inspiriting  smile,  to  breathe  the  gentle  joke,  to  console, 
to  whisper  hope,  to  administer  remedy  ;  and  all  day,  perhaps,  he 
sees  no  one  so  utterly  sick,  so  sad,  so  despairing,  as  himself. 

The  first  person  on  whom  he  had  to  practice  hypocrisy  that 
day  was  his  own  son,  who  chose  to  come  to  breakfast — a  meal  of 
which  son  and  father  seldom  now  partook  in  company.'  "  What 
does  he  know,  and  what  does  he  suspect?"  are  the  father's 
thoughts ;  but  a  lowering  gloom  is  on  Philip's  face,  and  the  father's 
eyes  look  into  the  son's,  but  can  not  penetrate  their  darkness. 

"  Did  you  stay  late  last  night,  Philip  ?"  says  papa. 

"  Yes,  sir,  rather  late,"  answers  the  son. 

"  Pleasant  party  ?" 

"No,  sir;  stupid.     Your  friend  Mr.  Hunt  wanted  to  come  in. 
He  was  drunk,  and  rude  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
put   him   out   of  the   door.      He   was   dreadfully   violent   and 
abusive." 
11 


122  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  Swore  a  good  deal,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Fiercely,  sir,  and  called  names." 

I  dare  say  Philip's  heart  beat  so  when  he  said  these  last  words 
that  they  were  inaudible  :  at  all  events,  Philip's  father  did  not 
appear  to  pay  much  attention  to  the  words,  for  he  was  busy  read- 
ing the  Mornintf-Post,  and  behind  that  sheet  of  fashionable  news 
hid  whatever  expression  of  agony  there  might  be  on  his  face. 
Philip  afterward  told  his  present  biographer  of  this  breakfast 
meeting  and  dreary  tete-a-tete.  "I  burned  to  ask  what  was  the 
meaning  of  that  scoundrel's  words  of  the  past  night,"  Philip  said 
to  his  biographer ;  "  but  I  did  not  dare,  somehow.  You  see, 
Pendennis,  it  is  not  pleasant  to  say  point-blank  to  your  father, 
4  Sir,  are  you  a  confirmed  scoundrel,  or  are  you  not  ?  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  you  have  made  a  double  marriage,  as  yonder  other 
rascal  hinted  ;  and  that  my  own  legitimacy  and  my  mother's  fair 
fame,  as  well  as  poor,  harmless  Caroline's  honor  and  happiness, 
have  been  destroyed  by  your  crime  '?'  But  I  had  lain  awake  all 
night  thinking  about  that  scoundrel  Hunt's  words,  and  whether 
there  was  any  meaning  beyond  drunken  malice  in  what  he  said." 
So  we  find  that  three  people  had  passed  a  bad  night  in  conse- 
quence of  Mr.  Firmin's  evil  behavior  of  five-and-twenty  years 
back,  which  surely  was  a  most  unreasonable  punishment  for  a  sin 
of  such  old  date.  I  wish,  dearly  beloved  brother  sinners,  we 
could  take  all  the  punishment  for  our  individual  crimes  on  our 
individual  shoulders ;  but  we  drag  them  all  down  with  us — that  is 
the  fact ;  and  when  Macheath  is  condemned  to  hang,  it  is  Polly 
and  Lucy  who  have  to  weep  and  suffer  and  wear  piteous  mourn- 
ing in  their  hearts  long  after  the  dare-devil  rogue  has  jumped  off 
the  Tyburn  ladder. 

"  Well,  sir,  he  did  not  say  a  word,"  said  Philip,  recounting  the 
meeting  to  his  friend ;  "  not  a  word,  art  least,  regarding  the  mat- 
ter both  of  us  had  on  our  hearts.  But  about  fashion,  parties, 
and  politics,  he  discoursed  much  more  freely  than  was  usual  with 
him.  He  said  I  might  have  had  Lord  Ringwood's  seat  for  Whip- 
ham  but  for  my  unfortunate  politics.  What  made  a  Radical  of 
me,  he  asked,  who  was  naturally  one  of  the  most  haughty  of  men 
(and  that,  I  think,  perhaps  I  am,  says  Phil,  and  a  good  many 
liberal  fellows  are)  V  I  should  calm  down,  he  was  sure — I  should 
calm  down,  and  be  of  the  politics  des  hoinmes  du  mondc? 

Philip  could  not  say  to  his  father,  "  Sir,  it  is  seeing  you  cringe 
before  great  ones  that  has  set  my  own  back  up."  There  were 
countless  points  about  which  father  and  son  could  not  speak; 
and  an  invisible,  unexpressed,  perfectly  unintelligible  mistrust, 
always  was  present  when  those  two  were  tete-a-tete. 

Then-  meal  was  scarce  ended  when  entered  to  them  Mr.  Hunt, 
with  his  hat  on.     I  was  not  present  at  the  time,  and  can  not 
speak  as  a  certainty  ;   but  I  should  think  at  his  ominous  appear-' 
ance  Philip  may  have  turned  red  and  his  father  nale.     "  Now  is 


ON    HIS    WAT   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  123 

the  time,"  both,  I  dare  say,  thought ;  and  the  doctor  remembered 
his  stormy  young  days  of  foreign  gambling,  intrigue,  and  duel, 
when  he  was  put  on  his  ground  before  his  adversary,  and  bidden, 
at  a  given  signal,  to  fire.  One,  two,  three  1  Each  man's  hand 
was  armed  with  malice  and  murder.  Philip  had  plenty  of  pluck 
for  his  part,  but  I  should  think  on  such  an  occasion  might  tje  a 
little  nervous  and  fluttered,  whereas  his  father's  eye  was  keen, 
and  his  aim  rapid  and  steady, 

"  You  and  Philip  had  a  difference  last  night,  Philip  tells  me"," 
said  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,  and  I  promised  he  should  pay  me,"  said  the  clergyman. 

"And  I  said  1  should  desire  no  better,"  says  Mr.  Phil. 

"  He  struck  his  senior,  his  father's  friend — a  sick  man,  a  cler- 
gyman," gasped  Hunt. 

"  Were  you  to  repeat  what  you  did  last  night,  I  should  repeat 
what  I  did,"  said  Phil.     "  You  insulted  a  good  woman." 

"  Jt  's  a  lie,  sir  !"  cries  the  other. 

"  You  insulted  a  good  woman,  a  lady  in  her  own  house,  and  I 
turned  you  out  of  it,"  said  Phil. 

M  I  say,  again,  it  is  a  lie,  sir!"  screams  Hunt,  with  a  stamp  on 
the  table. 

"  That  you  should  give  me  the  lie,  or  otherwise,  is  perfectly 
immaterial  to  me.  But  whenever  you  insult  Mrs.  Brandon,  or 
any  harmless  woman  in  my  presence,  I  shall  do  my  best  to  chas- 
tise you,"  cries  Philip  of  the  red  mustaches,  curling  them  with 
much  dignity. 

"  You  hear  him,  Firmin  ?"  says  the  parson. 

"Faith,  I  do,  Hunt!"  says  the  physician;  "and  I  think  he 
means  what  he  says,  too." 

"Oh  !  you  take*  that  line,  do  you?"  cries  Hunt  of  the  dirty 
hand?,  the  dirty  teeth,  the  dirty  neckcloth. 

"  I  take  what  you  call  that  line;  and  whenever  a  rudeness  is 
ofTered  to  that  admirable  woman  in  my  son's  hearing,  I  shall  be 
astonished  if  he  does  not  resent  it,"  says  the  doctor.  "  Thank 
you,  Philip !'' 

The  father's  resolute  speech  and  behavior  gave.  Philip  groat. 
momentary  comfort.  Hunt's  words  of  the  night  before  had  been 
occupying' the  young  man's  thoughts.  Had  Firmin  been  crimi- 
nal he  could  not  be  so  bold. 

"  You  talk  this  way  in  presence  of  your  son  !  You  have  been 
talking  over  the  matter* together  before?''  asks  Hunt. 

M  We  have  been  talking  over  the  matter  before — yes.  We 
were  engaged  on  it  when  you  came  into  breakfast,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  Shall  we  go  on  with  the  conversation  where  we  left  it 
off?" 

"  Well,  <lo — that  is;  if  you  dare,"  said  the  clergyman,  some- 
what astonished. 

"  Philip,  my  <lear,  it  is  ill  for  a  man  to  hide  his  head  before  his 


124  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

own  son ;  but  if  I  am  to  speak — and  speak  I  must  one  day  or  the 
other — why  not  now  ?" 

"  Why  at  all,  Firmin  ?"  asks  the  clergyman,  astonished  at  the 
other's  rather  sudden  resolve. 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  you,  Mr.  Tufton 
Hunt,"  cries  the  physician,  in  his  most  lofty  manner,  "  of  you  and 
your  presence  in  my  house ;  your  blackguard  behavior  and  your 
rascal  extortions — because  you  will. force  me  to  speak  one  day  or 
the  other — and  now,  Philip,  if  you  like,  shall  be  the  day." 

"  Hang  it,  I  say  !     Stop  a  bit !"  cries  the  clergyman. 

"  I  understand  you  want  some  more  money  from  me." 

"  I  did  promise  Jacobs  I  would  pay  him  to-day,  and  that  was 
what  made  me  so  sulky  last  night ;  and  perhaps  I  took  a  little 
too  much.  You  see  my  miud  was  out  of  order ;  and  what  's  the 
use  of  telling  a  story  that  is  no  good  to  any  one,  Firmin — least  of 
all  to  you  ?"  cries  the  parson,  darkly. 

"  Because,  you  ruffian,  I  '11  bear  with  you  no  more,"  cries  the 
doctor,  the  veins  of  his  forehead  swelling  as  he  looks  fiercely  at 
his  dirty  adversary.  "  In  the  last  nine  months,  Philip,  this  man 
has  had  nine  hundred  pounds  from  me." 

"  The  luck  has  been  so  very  bad,  so  bad,  upon  my  honor,  now," 
grumbles  the  parson. 

u  To-morrow  he  will  want  more;  and  the  next  day  more ;  and 
the  next  day  more ;  and,  in  fine,  I  won't  live  with  this  accursed 
Man  of  the  Sea  round  my  neck.  You  shall  have  the  story ;  and 
Mr.  Hunt  shall  sit  by  and  witness  against  his  own  crime  and 
mine.  I  had  been  very  wild  at  Cambridge  when  I  was  a  young 
man.  I  had  quarrelled  with  my  father,  lived  with  a  dissipated 
set,  and  beyond  my  means;  and  had  had  my  debts  paid  so  often 
by  your  grandfather  that  I  was  afraid  to  ask  for  more.  He  was 
stern  to  me;  I  was  not  dutiful  to  him.  I  own  my  fault.  Mr. 
Hunt  can  bear  witness  to  what  I  say. 

"I  was  in  hiding  at  Margate,  under  a  false  name.  You  know 
the  name." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  know  the  name,"  Philip  said,  thinking  he 
liked  his  father  better  now  than  he  had  ever  liked  him  in  his  life, 
and  sighing,  "Ah,  if  he  had  always  been  frank  and  true  with  me  !" 

"  I  took  humble  lodgings  with  an  obscure  family.  [If  Dr.  Fir- 
min had  a  prodigious  idea  of  his  own  grandeur  and  importance, 
you  see  I  can  not  help  it — and  he  was  long  held  to  be  such  a 
respectable  man.]  And  there  I  found  a  young  girl — one  of  the 
most  innocent  beings  that  ever  a  man  played  with  and  betrayed. 
Betrayed,  I  own  it,  Heaven  forgive  me !  The  crime  has  been 
the  shame  of  my  life,  and  darkened  my  whole  career  with  misery. 
I  got  a  man  worse  than  myself,  if  that  could  be.  I  got  Hunt  for 
a  few  pounds,  which  he  owed  me,  to  make  a  sham  marriage  be- 
tween me  and  poor  Caroline.  My  money  was  soon  gone.  My 
creditors  were  after  me.     I  fled  the  country,  and  I  left  her." 


ON    HIS   WAY    THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  125 

"A  sham  marriage  I  a  sham  marriage !"  cries  the  clergyman. 
"  Did  n't  you  make  me  perform  it  by  holding  a  pistol  to  my 
throat  ?  A  fellow  won't  risk  transportation  for  nothing.  But  I 
owed  him  money  for  cards,  and  he  had  my  bill,  and  he  said  he 
would  let  me  off,  and  that 's  why  I  helped  him.  Never  mind.  I 
am  out  of  the  business  now,  Mr.  Brummell  Firmin,  and  you  are 
in  it.  I  have  read  the  Act,  sir.  The  clergyman  who  performs 
the  marriage  is  liable  to  punishment,  if  informed  against  within 
three  years,  and  it 's  twenty  years  or  more.  But  you,  Mr.  Brum- 
mell Firmin — your  case  is  different,  and  you,  my  young  gentle- 
man, with  the  fiery  whiskers,  who  strike  down  old  men  of  a  night 
— you  may  find  some  of  us  know  how  to  revenge  ourselves, 
though  we  are  down."  And  with  this,  Hunt  rushed  to  his  greasy 
hat  and  quitted  the  house,  discharging  imprecations  at  his  hosts 
as  he  passed  through  the  hall. 

Son  and  father  sate  a  while  silent  after  the  departure  of  their 
common  enemy.     At  last  the  father  spoke  : 

"  This  is  the  sword  that  has  always  been  hanging  over  my  head, 
and  is'now  falling,  Philip." 

"  What  can  the  man  do  ?  Is  the  first  marriage  a  good  mar- 
riage ?"  asked  Philip,  with  alarmed  face. 

"  It  is  no  marriage.  It  is  void  to  all  intents  and  purposes. 
You  may  suppose  I  have  taken  care  to  learn  the  law  about  that. 
Your  legitimacy  is  safe,  sure  enough.  But  that  man  can  ruin 
me,  or  nearly  so.  He  will  try  to-morrow,  if  not  to-day.  As  long 
as  you  or  I  can  give  him  a  guinea  he  will  take  it  to  the  gambling- 
house.  I  had  the  mania  on  me  myself  once.  My  poor  father 
quarrelled  with  me  in  consequence,  and  died  without  seeing  me. 
I  married  your  mother — Heaven  help  her,  poor  soul !  and  forgive 
me  for  being  but  a  harsh  husband  to  her — with  a  view  of  mend- 
ing my  shattered  fortunes.  I  wished  she  had  been  more  happy, 
poor  thing.     But 'do  not  blame  me  utterly,  Philip.     I  was  des- 

f>erate,  and  she  wished  for  the  marriage  so  much  !  I  had  good 
ooks  and  high  spirits  in  those  days.  People  said  so.  [  And  here 
he  glances  obliquely  at  his  own  handsome  portrait.]  Now  I  am 
a  wreck — a  wreck  !" 

"  I  can  conceive,  sir,  that  this  will  annoy  you ;  but  how  can  it 
ruin  you?"  asked  Philip. 

"  What  becomes  of  my  practice  as  a  family  physician  ?  The 
practice  is  not  now  what  it  was,  between  oui-selves,  Philip,  and 
the  expenses  greater  than  you  imagine.  I  have  made  unlucky 
speculations.  If  you  count  upon  much  increase  of  wealth  from 
me,  my  boy,  you  will  be  disappointed;  though  you  were  never 
mercenary — no,  never.  But  the  story  bruited  about  by  this  ras- 
cal, of  a  physician  of  eminence  engaged  in  two  marriages,  do  you 
suppose  my  rivals  won't  hear  it,  and  take  advantage  of  it — my 
patients  hear  it,  and  avoid  me  ?" 

"  Make  terms  with  the  mau  at  once,  then,  sir,  and  silence 
him." 


126  THE    ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

"  To  make  terms  with  a  gambler  is  impossible.  My  purse  is 
always  there  open  for  him  to  thrust  his  hand  into  when  he  loses. 
No  man  can  withstand  such  a  temptation.  I  am  glad  you  have 
never  fallen  into  it.  I  have  quarrelled  with  you  sometimes  for 
Jiving  with  people  below  your  rank ;  perhaps  you  were  right,  and 
I  was  wrong.  I  have  liked,  always  did,  I  don't  disguise  it,  to 
live  with  persons  of  station.  And  these,  when  I  was  at  the  uni- 
versity, taught  me  play  and  extravagance ;  and  in  the  world 
have  n't  helped  me  much.  Who  would  ?  Who  would  ?•'  and 
the  doctor  relapsed  into  meditation. 

A  little  catastrophe  presently  occurred,  after  which  Mr.  Philip 
Firmin  told  me  the  substance  of  this  story.  He  described  his 
father's  long  acquiescence  in  Hunt's  demands,  and  sudden  resist- 
ance to  them,  and  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  change.  I  did 
not  tell  my  friend  in  express  terms,  but  I  fancied  I  could  account 
for  the  change  of  behavior.  Dr.  Firmin,  in  his  interviews  with 
Caroline,  had  had  his  mind  set  at  rest  about  one  part  of  his  dan- 
ger. The  doctor  need  no  longer  fear  the  charge  of  a  double 
marriage.  The  .Little  Sister  resigned  her  claims  past,  present, 
future. 

If  a  gentleman  is  sentenced  to  be  hung,  I  wonder  is  it  a  matter 
of  comfort  to  him  or  not  to  know  beforehand  the  day  of  the  oper- 
ation ?  Hunt  would  take  his  revenge.  When  and  how?  Dr. 
Firmin  asked  himself.  Nay,  possibly,  you  will  have  to  learn  that 
this  eminent  practitioner  walked  about  with  more  than  danger 
hanging  imminent  over  him.  Perhaps  it  was  a  rope  :  perhaps  it 
was  a  sword:  some  weapon  of  execution,  at  any  rate,  as  we  fre- 
quently may  see.  A  day  passes:  no  assassin  darts  at  the  doctor 
as  he  threads  the  dim  opera-colonnade  passage  on  his  way  to  his 
club.  A  week  goes  by :  no  stiletto  is  plunged  into  his  well-wad- 
ded breast  as  he  steps  from  his  carriage  at  some  noble  patu  nt's 
door.  Philip  says  he  never  knew  his  father  more  pleasant,  easy, 
good-humored,  and  affable  than  during  this  period,  when  he 
must  have  felt  that  a  danger  was  hanging  over  him  of  which  his 
son,  at  this  time,  had  no  idea.  I  dined  in  Old  Parr-street  once 
in  this  memorable  period  (memorable  it  seemed  to  me  from  im- 
mediately subsequent  events).  Never  was  the  dinner  better 
served :  the  wine  more  excellent :  the  guests  and  conversation 
more  gravely  respectable  than  at  this  entertainment :  and  my 
neighbor  remarked  with  pleasure  how  the  father  and  son  seemed 
to  be  on  much  better  terms  than  ordinary.  The  doctor  addressed 
Philip  pointedly  once  or  twice ;  alluded  to  his  foreign  travels ; 
spoke  of  his  mother's  family — it  was  most  gratifying  to  see  the 
pair  together.  Day  after  day  passes  so.  The  enemy  has  disap- 
peared. At  least,  the  lining  of  his  dirty  hat  is  no  longer  visible 
on  the  broad  marble  table  of  Dr.  Firmin's  hall. 

But  one  day — it  may  be  ten  days  after  the  quarrel — a  little 
messenger  comes  to  Philip,  and  says:  "  Philip,  dear,  J  am  sure 
there  is  something  wrong  ;  that  horrible  Hunt  has  been  here  with 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  127 

.a  very  quiet,  soft-spoken  old  gentleman,  and  they  have  been 
going  on  with  my  poor  pa  about  my  wrongs  and  his — his,  indeed  1 
— and  they  have  worked  him  up  to  believe  that  somebody  has 
cheated  his  daughter  out  of  a  great  fortune ;  and  who  can  that 
somebody  be  but  your  father?  And  whenever  they  see  me 
coming,  papa  and  that  horrid  Hunt  go  off  to  the  'Admiral  Byng:' 
and  one  night  when  pa  came  home  he  said,  -Bless  you,  bless  you, 
my  poor,  innocent,  injured  child  ;  and  blessed  you  luill  be:  mark 
a  fond  father's  words !'  They  are  scheming  something  against 
Philip  and  Philip's  father.  Mr- Bond  the  soft-spoken  old  gentle- 
man's name  is:  and  twice  there  has  been  a  Mr.  Walls  to  inquire 
if  Mr.  Hunt  was  at  our  house." 

"  Mr.  Bond  ? — Mr.  Walls  ?  A  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Bond 
was  uncle  Twysden's  attorney.  An  old  gentleman  with  a  bald 
head,  and  one  eye  bigger  than  the  other  ?" 

"  Well,  this  old  man  has  one  smaller  than  the  other,  I  do  think," 
says  Caroline.  "  First  man  who  came  was  Mr.  Walls — a  rattling 
young  fashionable  chap,  always  laughing,  talking  about  theatres, 
operas,  everything — came  home  from  the  '  Byng'  along  with  pa 
and  his  new  friend — oh !  I  do  hate  him,  that  man,  that  Hunt ! — 
then  he  brought  the  old  man,  this  Mr.  Bond.  What  are  they 
schemiug  against  you,  Philip  ?  I  tell  you  this  matter  is  all  about 
you  and  four  father." 

Years  and  years  ago,  in  the  poor  mother's  lifetime,  Philip  re- 
membered an  outbreak  of  wrath  on  his  father's  part,  who  called 
uncle  Twysden  a  swindling  miser,  and  this  very  Mr.  Bond  a 
scoundrel  who  deserved  to  be  hung,  for  interfering  in  some  way 
in  the  management  of  a  part  of  the  property  which  Mrs.  Twys- 
den and  her  sister  inherited  from  their  own  mother.  That  quar- 
rel had  been  made  up,  as  such  quarrels  are.  The  brothers-in- 
law  had  continued  to  mistrust  each  other;  but  there  was  no 
reason  why  the  feud  should  descend  to  the  children ;  and  Philip 
and  his  aunt,  and.  one  of  her  daughters  at  least,  were  on  good 
terms  together.  Philip's  uncle's  lawyers  engaged  with  his  father's 
debtor  and  enemy  against  Dr.  Firmin  :  the  alliance  boded  no 
good. 

14 1  won't  tell  you  what  I  think,  Philip,"  said  the  father.  ''You 
are  fond  of  your  cousin  ?" 

"  Oh  1  for  ev— " 

"  For  ever,  of  course  !  At  least  until  we  change  our  mind,  or 
one  of  us  grows  tired,  or  finds  a  better  mate." 

"  Ah,  sir  !"  cries  Philip,  but  suddenly  stops  in  his  remonstrance. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  say,  Philip,  and  why  do  you  pause  ?" 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  father,  if  I  might  without  offending,  that 
I  think  you  judge  hardly  of  women.  I  know  two  who  have  been 
very  faithful  to  you." 

"And  I  a  traitor  to  both  of  them.  Yes;  and  my  remorse, 
Philip,  my  remorse  !"  says  his  father,  in  his  deepest  tragedy  voice, 


128  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

clutching  his  hand  over  a  heart  that  I  believed  beat  very  coolly. 
But,  pshaw !  why  am  I,  Philip's  biographer,  going  out  of  the 
way  to  abuse  Philip's  papa  ?  Is  not  the  threat  of  bigamy  and 
exposure  enough  to  disturb  any  man's  equanimity  ?  I  say  again, 
suppose  there  is  another  sword — a  rope,  if  you  will  so  call  it — 

hanging  over  the  head  of  our  Damocles  of  Old  Parr  street? 

Howbcit,  the  father  and  the  son  met  and  parted  in  these  days 
with  unusual  gentleness  and  cordiality.  And  these  were  the  last 
days  in  which  they  were  to  meet  together.  Nor  could  Philip 
recall  without  satisfaction,  afterward,  that  the  hand  which  he 
took  was  pressed  and  given  with  a  real  kindness  and  cordiality. 

Why  were  these  the  last  days  son  and  father  were  to  pass  to- 
gether? Dr.  Firmin  is  still  alive.  Philip  is  a  very  tolerably 
prosperous  gentleman.  lie  and  his  father  parted  good  friends, 
and  it  is  the  biographer's  business  to  narrate  how  and  wherefore. 
When  Philip  told  his  father  that  Messrs.  Bond  and  Walls,  his 
uncle  Twysden's  attorneys,  were  suddenly  interested  about  Mr. 
Brandon  and  his  affairs,  the  father  instantly  guessed,  though  the 
son  was  too  simple  as  yet  to  understand  how  it  was  that  these 
gentlemen  interfered.  If  Mr.  Brandon  Firmin's  marriage  with 
Miss  Ringwood  was  null,  her  son  was  illegitimate,  and  her  fort- 
une went  to  her  sister.  Painful  as  such  a  duty  might  be  to  such 
tender-hearted  people  as  our  Twysden  acquaintances  to  deprive 
a  dear  nephew  of  his  fortune,  yet,  after  all,  duty  is  duty,  and  a 
parent  must  sacrifice  everything  for  justice  and  his  own  children. 
*'  Had  I  been  in  such  a  case,"  Talbot  Twysden  subsequently  and 
repeatedly  declared,  "I  should  never  have  been  easy  a  moment 
if  I  thought  I  possessed  wrongfully  a  beloved  nephew's  property. 
I  could  not  have  slept  in  peace ;  I  could  not  have  shown  my  face 
at  my  own  club,  or  to  my  own  conscience,  had  I  the  weight  of 
such  an  injustice  on  my  mind."  In  a  word,  when  he  found  that 
there  was  a  chance  of  annexing  Philip's  share  of  the  property 
to  his  own,  Twysden  saw  clearly  that  his  duty  was  to  stand  by 
his  own  wife  and  children. 

The  information  upon  which  Talbot  Twysden,  Esq.,  acted  was 
brought  to  him  at  his  office  by  a  gentleman  in  dingy  black,  who, 
after  a  long  interview  with  him,  accompanied  him  to  his  lawyer, 
Mr.  Bond,  before  mentioned.  Here,  in  South  Square,  Gray's 
Inn,  the  three  gentlemen  held  a  consultation,  of  which  the  re- 
■  suits  began  quickly  to  show  themselves.  Messrs.  Bond  and  Selby 
had  an  exceedingly  lively,  cheerful,  jovial,  and  intelligent  confi- 
dential clerk,  who  combined  business  and  pleasure  with  the 
utmost  affability,  and  was  acquainted  with  a  thousand  queer 
things,  and  queer  histories  about  queer  people  in  this  town  ;  who 
lent  money ;  who  wanted  money ;  who  was  in  debt ;  and  who 
was  outrunning  the  constable;  whose  diamonds  were- in  pawn  ; 
whose  estates  were  over- mortgaged  :  who  was  over-building  him- 
self;  who  was  casting  eyes  of  longing  at  what  pretty  opera  dan- 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  120 

cer— about  races,  fights,  bill-brokers,  quicqnid  ar/unt  homines. 
This  Tom  Walls  had  a  deal  of  information,  and  imparted  it  so  as 
to  make  you  die  of  laughing. 

The  Reverend  Tufton  Hunt  brought  this  jolly  fellow  first  to 
the  "Admiral  Byng,"  when1',  his  amiability  won  all  hearts  at  the 
club.  At  the  Byngs  it  was  not  very  difficult  to  gain  Captain 
Gann's  easy  confidence.  And  this  old  man  was,  in  the  course  of 
a  very  trifling  consumption  of  rum  and  water,  brought  to  see 
that  liis  daughter  had  been  the  object  of  a  wicked  conspiracy, 
and  was  the  rightful  and  most  injured  wife  of  a  man  who  ought 
to  declare  her  fair  fame  before  the  world,  and  put  her  in  posses- 
sion of  a  portion  of  his  great  fortune. 

A  great  fortune"?  How  great  a  fortune  ?  Was  it  three  hun- 
dred thousand,  say  ?  Those  doctors,  many  of  them,  had  fifteen 
thousand  a  year.  Mr.  Walls  (who  perhaps  knew  better)  was 
not  at  liberty  to  say  wliat  the  fortune  was:  but  it  was  a  shame 
that  Mrs.  Brandon  was  kept  out  of  her  rights,  that  was  clear. 

Old  Gann's  excitement,  when  this  matter  was  first  broached 
to  him  (under  vows  of  profound  secrecy),  was  so  intense  that  his 
old  reason  tottered  on  his  rickety  old  throne.  He  well-nigh 
burst  with  longing  to  speak  upon  this  mystery.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Oves,  the  esteemed  landlord  and  lady  of  the  u  Byng,"  never  saw 
him  so  excited.  He  had  a  great  opinion  of  the  judgment  of  his 
friend,  Mr.  Ridley ;  in  fact,  lie  must  have  gone  to  Bedlam  unless 
he  had  talked  to  somebody  on  this  most  nefarious  transaction, 
which  might  make  the  blood  of  every  Britpn  curdle  with  hor- 
ror— as  he  was  free  to  say. 

Old  Mr.  Ridley  was  of  a  much  cooler  temperament,  and  alto- 
gether a  more  cautious  person.  "  The  doctor  rich  ?  He  wished 
to  tell  no  secrets,  nor  to  meddle  in  no  gentleman's  affairs :  but 
he  have  heard  very  different  statements  regarding  Dr.  Firmin's 
affairs." 

When  dark  hints  about  treason,  wicked  desertion,  rights  de- 
nied, "  and  a  great  fortune  which  you  are  kept  out  of,  my  poor 
Caroline,  by  a  rascally  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  you  arc ;  and  I 
always  mistrusted  him,  from  the  moment  I  saw  him,  and  said  to 
your  mother,  •  Emily,  that  Brandon  is  a  bad  fellow,  Brandon  is;' 
and  bitterly,  bitterly  I  've  rued  ever  receiving  him  under  my 
roof" — when  speeches  of  this  nature  were  made  to  Mrs.  Caro- 
Htte,  strange  to  say,  the  little  lady  made  light  of  them.  "  Oh, 
aonsense,  pa!  Don't  be  bringing  that  sad,  old  story  up  again. 
I  have  Buffered  enough  from  it  already.  If  Mr.  F.  left  me,  he 
tt't  tin-  only  one  who  flung  me  away ;  and  I  have  been  able 
to  live,  thank  mercy,  through  it  all." 

Thi-  vrai  a  hard  hit.  and  not  to  be  parried.     The  truth  is,  that 

when  ]x»or  Caroline,  deserted  by  her  husband,  had  come  back, 

in  wretchedness,  to  her  father's  door,  the  man,  and  (he  wife  who 

then  ruled  him,  had  thought  fit  to  thrust  her  awav.     And  she 

12 


130  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

had  forgiven  them:  and  had  been  enabled  to  heap  a  rare  quan- 
tity of  coals  on  that  old  gentleman's  head. 

When  the  captain  remaiked  his  daughter's  indifference  and 
unwillingness  to  reopen  this  painful  question  of  her  sham  mar- 
riage •with  Firmin,  his  wrath  was  moved,  and  his  suspicion  ex- 
cited. "  Ha  !"  says  he,  "  have  this  man  been  a  tampering  with 
you  again  ?" 

"  Nonsense,  pa  1"  once  more  says  Caroline.  "I  tell  you  it  is 
this  fine-talking  lawyer's  clerk  has  been  tampering  with  you. 
You  're  made  a  tool  of,  pa  !  and  you  've  been  made  a  tool  of  all 
your  life  !" 

"  Well,  now,  upon  my  honor,  my  good  madam  I"  interposes 
Mr.  Walls. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  sir  !  I  don't  want  any  lawyers'  clerk  to 
meddle  in  my  business  !"  cries  Mrs.  Brandon,  very  briskly.  "  I 
don't  know  what  you  're  come  about.  I  don't  want  to  know,  and 
J  'm  most  certain  it  is  for  no  good." 

I  suppose  it  was  the  ill  success  of  his  embassador  that  brought 
Mr.  Bond  himself  to  Thornhaugh  street ;  and  a  more  kind, 
fatherly  little  man  never  looked  than  Mr.  Bond,  although  he 
may  have  had  one  eye  smaller  than  the  other.  "  What  is  this, 
my  dear  madam,  I  hear  from  my  confidential  clerk,  Mr.  Walls?" 
he  asked  of  the  Little  Sister.  "  You  refuse  to  give  him  your 
confidence  because  he  is  only  a  clerk  ?  I  wonder  whether  you 
will  accord  it  to  me,  as  a  principal  ?" 

"  She  may,  sir,  sh£  may — jevery  confidence  I"  says  the  captain, 
laying  his  hand  on  that  snuffy  satin  waistcoat  which  all  his  frienfls 
so  long  admired  on  him.    "  She  might  have  spoken  to  Mr.  Walls." 

"  Mr.  Walls  is  not  a  family  man.  I  am.  I  have  children  at 
home,  Mrs.  Brandon,  as  old  as*  you  are,"  says  the  benevolent 
Bond.     "  I  would  have  justice  done  them,  and  for  you  too." 

"  You  're  very  good  to  take  so  much  trouble  about  me  all  of  a 
sudden,  to  be  sure,"  says  Mrs.  Brandon,  demurely.  *"  I  suppose 
you  don't  do  it  for  nothing." ' 

"  I  should  not  require  much  fee  to  help  a  good  woman  to  her 
rights;  and  a  lady  I  don't  think  needs  much  persuasion  to  be 
helped  to  her  advantage,"  remarks  Mr.  Bond. 

"  That  depends  who  the  helper  is." 

"  Well,  if  I  can  do  you  no  harm,  and  help  you  possibly  to  a 
name,  to  a  fortune,  to  a  high  place  in  the  world,  I  don't  think 
you  need  be  frightened.  I  don't  look  very  wicked  or  very  art- 
ful,doI?"  °  '  y 

"  Many  is  that  don't  look  so.  I  've  learned  as  much  as  that 
about  you  gentlemen,"  remarks  Mrs.  Brandon. 

"  You  have  been  wronged  by  one  man,  and  doubt  all." 

"  Not  all.     Some,  sir  1" 

"  Doubt  about  me  if  I  can  by  any  possibility  injure  you.  But 
how  and  why  should  I  ?     Your  good  father  knows  what  has 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WOULD.  131 

brought  me  here.     I  have  no  secret  from  him.     Have  I,  Mr. 
Gann,  or  Captain  Gann,  as  I  have  heard  you  addressed  ?" 

"Mr.,  sir — plain  Mr.  No,  sir;  your  conduct  have  been  most 
open,  honorable,  and  like  a  gentleman.  Neither  would  you,  sir, 
do  aught  to  disparage  Mrs.  Brandon ;  neither  would  I,  her  father. 
No  ways,  I  think,  would  a  parent  do  harm  to  his  own  child.  May 
I  offer  you  any  refreshment,  sir  ?"  and  a  shaky,  a  dingy,  but  a 
hospitable  hand,  is  laid  upon  the  glossy  cupboard  in  which  Mrs. 
Brandon  keeps  her  mow  est  little  store  of  strong  waters. 

"  Not  one  drop,  thank  you  !  You  trust  me,  1  think,  more  than 
Mrs.  Firm — I  beg  your  pardon — Mrs.  Brandon  is  disposed  to  do." 

At  the  utterance  of  that  monosyllable  Firm  Caroline  became  , 
so  white,  and  trembled  so,  that  her  interlocutor  stopped,  rather 
alarmed  at  the-  effect  of  his  word — his  word! — his  syllable  of  a 
word. 

The  old  lawyer  recovered  himself  with  much  grace. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,"  he  said ;  "  I  know  your  wrongs ;  I  know 
your  most  melancholy  history  ;  I  know  your  name,  and  was  going 
to  use  it,  but  it  seemed  to  renew  painful  recollections  to  you, 
which  I  would  not  needlessly  recall." 

Captain  Gann  took  out  a  snuffy  pocket-handkerchief,  wiped 
two  red  eyes  and  a  shirt-front,  and  winked  at  the  attorney,  and 
gasp'ed  in  a  pathetic  manner. 

"  You  know  my  story  and  name,  sir,  who  are  a  stranger  to 
me.  Have  you  told  this  old  gentleman  all  about  me  and  my  af- 
fairs, pa  ?"  asks  Caroline,  with  some  asperity.  "  Have  you  told 
him  that  my  ma  never  gave  mo  a  word  of  kindness — that  I  toiled 
for  you  and  her  like  a  servant — and  when  I  came  back  to  you, 
after  being  deceived  and  deserted,  that  you  and  ma  shut  the  door 
in  my  face  ?  You  did  1  you  did  !  I  forgive  you  ;  but  a  hundred 
thousand  billion  years  can't  mend  that  injury,  father,  while  you 
broke  a  poor  child's  heart  with  it  that  day  !  My  pa  has  told  you 
all  this,  Mr.  What's-your-name  ?  I'm  s'prised  he  did  l  t  find 
something  pleasanter  to  talk  about,  I'm  sure  1" 

"  My  love  !"  interposed  the  captain. 

"  Pretty  love  !  to  go  and  tell  a  stranger  in  a  public  house,  and 
ever  so  many  there  besides,  I  suppose,  your  daughter's  misfort- 
unes, pa.     Pretty  love  !     That 's  what  I  've  'ad  from  you  !" 

"  Not  a  soul,  on  the  honor  of  a  gentleman,  except  me  and  Mr. 
Walls." 

'.'  Then  what  do  you  come  to  talk  about  me  at  all  for  ?  and 
what  scheme  on  hearth  are  you  driving  at?  and  what  brings  this 
old  man  here  V"  cries  the  landlady  of  Thornhaugh  street,  stamp- 
ing her  foot.  , 

"  Shall  J  tell  you  frankly,  my  good  lady  ?  I  called  you  Mrs. 
Firmin  now  because,  on  my  honor  and  word,  I  believe  such  to 
be  your  rightful  name — because  you  are  the  lawful  wife  of 
George   Brand  Firmin.     If  such  be  your  lawful  name,  others 


132  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

bear  it  who  have  no  right  to  bear  it — and  inherit  property  to 
which  they  can  lay  no  just  claim.  In  the  year  1827  you,  Caro- 
line Gann,  a  child  of  sixteen,  were  married  by  a  clergyman 
whom  you  know,  to  George  Brand  Firmin,  calling  himself 
George  Brandon.  He  was  guilty  of  deceiving  you;  but  you  were 
guilty  of  no  deceit.  He  was  a  hardened  and  wily  man  ;  but  3*ou 
were  an  innocent  child  out  of  a  school-room.  And  though  he 
thought  the  marriage  was  not  binding  upon  him,  binding  it  is  by 
Act  of  Parliament  and  judges'  decision  ;  and  you  are  as  assuredly 
George  Firmin's  wife,  madam,  as  Mrs.  Bond  is  mine  !" 

"  You  have  been  cruelly  injured,  Caroline,"  says  the  captain, 
wagging  his  old  nose  over  his  handkerchief. 

Caroline  seemed  to  be  very  well  versed  in  the  law  of  the 
transaction.  "  You  mean,  sir,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  that  if  me  and 
Mr.  Brandon  was  married  to  each  other,  he  knowing  that  he  was 
only  playing  at  marriage,  and  me  believing  that  it  was  all  for 
good,  we  are  really  married  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly  you  are,  madam — my  client  has — that  is,  I 
have  had  advice  on  the  point." 

"But  if  we  both  knew  that  it  was — was  only  a  sort  of  a  mar- 
riage— an  irregular  marriage,  you  know  ?" 

"  Then  the  Act  says  that,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the  mar- 
riage is  null  and  void." 

"  But  you  did  n't  know,  my  poor  innocent  child !"  cries  Mr. 
Gann.  "  How  should  you  ?  How  old  was  you  ?  She  was  a 
child  in  the  nursery,  Mr.  Bond,  when  the  villain  inveigled  her 
away  from  her  poor  old  father.  She  knew  nothing  of  irregular 
marriages." 

"  Of  course  she  did  n't,  the  poor  creature  !"  cries  the  old  gen- 
tleman, rubbing  his  hands  together  with  perfect  good-humor. 
"  Poor  young  thing,  poor  young  thing  !" 

As  he  was  speaking,  Caroline,  very  pale  and  still,  was  sitting 
looking  at  Ridley's  sketch  of  Philip,  which  hung  in  her  little 
room.  Presently  she  turned  round  on  the  attorney,  folding  her 
little  hands  over  her  work. 

"  Mr.  Bond,"  she  said,  "  girls,  though  they  may  be  ever  so 
young,  know  more  than  some  folks  fancy.  I  was  more  than  six- 
teen when  that — that  business  happened.  I  was  n't  happy  at 
home,  and  eager  to  get  away.  I  knew  that  a  gentleman  of  his 
rank  would  n't  be  likely  really  to  marry  a  poor  Cinderella  out  of 
a  lodging-house,  like  me.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  I — I  knew  it 
was  no  marriage — never  thought  it  was  a  marriage — not  for 
good,  you  know." 

And  she  folds  her  little  hands  together  as  she  utters  the  words, 
and  I  dare  say  once  more  looks  at  Philip's  portrait. 

"  Gracious  goodness,  madam,  you  must  be  under  some  error !" 
cries  the  attorney.  "  How  should  a  child  like  you  know  that 
the  marriage  was  irregular  ?" 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  133 

"  Because  I  had  no  lines  I"  cries  Caroline,  quickly.  u  Never 
asked  for  none  !  And  our  maid  we  had  then  said  to  me,  '  Miss 
Carry,  where  's  your  lines  ?'  And  it's  no  good  without.  And  I 
knew  it  was  n't !  And  I — I'm  ready  to  go  before  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor to-morrow  and  say  so !"  cries  Caroline,  to  the  bewilder- 
ment of  her  father  and  her  cross-examinant. 

"  Pause,  pause  !  my  good  madam !"  exclaims  the  meek  old 
gentleman,  rising  from  his  chair. 

"  Go  and  tell  this  to  them  as  sent  you,  sir  !"  cries  Caroline, 
very  imperiously,  leaving  the  lawyer  amazed,  and  her  father's 
face  in  a  bewilderment,  over  which  he  will  fling  his  snuffy  old 
pocket-handkerchief. 

"  If  such  is  unfortunately  the  case — if  you  actually  mean  to 
abide  by  this  astonishing  confession,  which  deprives  you  of  a  high 
place  in  society — and — and  casts  down  the  hope  we  had  formed 
of  redressing  your  injured  reputation — I  have  nothing  for  it !  I 
take  my  leave,  madam.  Good-morning,  Mr.  Hum — Mr.  Gann  !" 
And  the  old  lawyer  walks  out  of  the  Little  Sister's  room. 

"  She  won't  own  to  the  marriage  !  She  is  fond  of  some  one 
else — the  little  suicide  !"  thinks  the  old  lawyer,  as  he  clatters 
down  the  street  to  a  neighboring  house,  where  his  anxious  prin- 
cipal was  in  waiting.     "  She  's  fond  of  some  one  else  !" 

Yes.  But  the  some  one  else  whom  Caroline  loved  was  Brand 
Firmin's  son  ;  and  it  was  to  save  Philip  from  ruin  that  the  poor 
Little  Sister  chose  to  forget  her  marriage  to  his  father. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

LOVE  ME,  LOVE  MY  DOG. 

While  the  battle  is  raging,  the  old  folks  and  ladies  peep  over 
the  battlements  to  watch  the  turns  of  the  combat  and  the  be- 
havior of  the  knights.  To  princesses  in  old  days,  whose  lovely 
hands  were  to  be  bestowed  upon  the  conqueror,  it  must  have 
been  a  matter  of  no  small  interest  to  know  whether  the  slim 
young  champion  with  the  lovely  eyes  on  the  milk-white  steed 
should  vanquish,  or  the  dumpy,  elderly,  square-shouldered,  squint- 
ing, carroty  whiskerando  of  a  warrior  who  was  laying  about 
him  so  savagely  ;  and  so  in  this  battle,  on  the  issue  of  which  de- 
pended the  keeping  or  losing  of  poor  Philip's  inheritance,  there 
were  several  non-combatants  deeply  interested.  Or  suppose  we 
withdraw  the  chivalrous  simile  (as,  in  fact,  the  conduct  and  views 
of  certain  parties  engaged  in  the  matter  were  anything  but  what 
we  call  chivalrous),  and  imagine  a  wily  old  monkey  who  engages 
a  cat  to  take  certain  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire,  and  pussy  put- 
ting her  paw  through  the  bars,  seizing  the  nut,  and  then  drop- 


134  THE   ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

ping  it  ?  Jackois  disappointed  and  angry,  shows  his  sharp  teeth, 
and  bites  if  he  dares.  When  the  attorney  went  down  to  do  battle 
for  Philip's  patrimony,  some  of  those  who  wanted  it  were  specta- 
tors  of  the  fight,  and  lurking  up  a  tree  hard  by.  When. Mr. 
Bond  came  forward  to  try  and  seize  Phil's  chestnuts,  there  was  a 
wily  old  monkey  who  thrust  the  cat's  paw  out,  and  proposed  to 
gobble  up  the  smoking  prize. 

If  you  have  ever  been  at  the  "Admiral  Byng,"  you  know,  my 
dear  madam,  that  the  parlor  where  the  club  meets  is  just  behind 
Mrs.  Oves'  bar,  so  that  by  lifting  up  the  sash  of  the  window 
which  communicates  between  the  two  apartments  that  good-na- 
tured woman  may  put  her  face  into  the  club-room,  and  actually 
be  one  of  the  society.     Sometimes,  for  company,  old  Mr.  Ridley 

foes  and  sits  with  Mrs.  O.  in  her  bar,  and  reads  the  paper  there. 
Ie  is  slow  at  his  reading.  The  long  words  puzzle  the  worthy 
gentleman.  As  he  has  plenty  of  time  to  spare,  he  does  not 
grudge  it  to  the  study  of  his  paper. 

On  the  day  when  Mr.  Bond  went  to  persuade  Mrs.  Brandon 
in  Thornhaugh  street  to  claim  Dr.  Firmin  for  her  husband  and 
to  disinherit  poor  Philip,  a  little  gentleman  wrapped  most  sol- 
emnly and  mysteriously  in  a  great  cloak  appeared  at  the  bar  of 
the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  and  said,  in  an  aristocratic  manner,  "  You 
have  a  parlor  ;  show  me  to  it."  And  being  introduced  to  the 
parlor  (where  there  are  fine  pictures  of  Oves,  Mrs.  O.,  and 
Spotty-nose,  their  favorite  defunct  bull-dog),  sat  down  and  called 
for  a  glass  of  sherry  and  a  newspaper. 

The  civil  and  intelligent  pot  boy  of  the  "  Byng  "  took  the  party 
The  Advertiser  of  yesterday  (which  to-day's  paper  was  in  'and), 
and  when  the  gentleman  began  to  swear  over  the  old  paper, 
Frederick  gave  it  as  his  opinion  to  his  mistress  that  the  new-comer 
was  a  harbitrary  gent — as,  indeed,  he  was,  with  the  omission, 
perhaps,  of  a  single  letter ;  a  man  who  bullied  everybody  who 
would  submit  to  be  bullied.  In  fact,  it  was  our  friend  Talbot 
Twysden,  Esq.,  Commissioner  of  the  Powder  and  Pomatum 
Office ;  and  I  leave  those  who  know  him  to  say  whether  he  is  ar- 
bitrary or  not. 

To  him  presently  came  that  bland  old  gentleman,  Mr.  Bond, 
who  also  asked  for  a  parlor  and  some  sherry-and-water  ;  and  this 
is  how  Philip  and  his  veracious  and  astute  biographer  came  to 
know  for  a  certainty  that  dear  uncle  Talbot  was  the  person  who 
wished  to — to  have  Philip's  chestnuts. 

Mr.  Bond  and  Mr.  Twysden  had  been  scarcely  a  minute  to- 
gether when  such  a  storm  of  imprecations  came  clattering  through 
the  glass-window  which  communicates  with  Mrs.  Oves'  bar,  that 
I  dare  say  they  made  the  jugs  and  tumblers  clatter  on  the  shelves, 
and  Mr.  Ridley,  a  very  modest-spoken  man,  reading  his  paper, 
lay  it  down  with  a  scared  face,  and  say,  "  Well,  I  never !"  Nor 
did  he  often,  I  dare  say. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  1S5 

This  volley  was  fired  by  Talbot  Twysden,  in  consequence  of 
his  rage  at  the  news  which  Mr.  Bond  brought  him. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Bond ;  well,  Mr.  Bond  !  What  does  she  say  V  he 
asked  of  his  emissary. 

"  She  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  business,  Mr.  Twysden. 
We  can't  touch  it;  and  1  don't  see  how  we  can  move  her.  She 
denies  the  marriage  as  much  as  Firmin  does :  says  she  knew  it 
was  a  mere  sham  when  the  ceremony  was  performed." 

"  Sir,  you  didn't  bribe  her  enough,"  shrieked  Mr.  Twysden. 
"  You  have  bungled  this  business  ;    by  George  you  have,  sir  !" 

u  Go  and  do  it  yourself,  sir,  if  you  are  not  ashamed  to  appear 
in  it,"  says  the  lawyer.  "  You  don't  suppose  I  did  it  because  I 
liked  it,  or  want  to  take  that  poor  young  fellow's  inheritance 
from  him,  as  you  do  V" 

"  I  wish  justice  and  the  law,  sir.  If  I  were  wrongfully  detain- 
ing his  property  I  would  give  it  up.  I  would  be  the  first  to  give 
it  up.  I  desire  justice  and  law,  and  employ  you  because  you  are 
a  law  agent.     Are  you  not  ?" 

"  And  1  have  been  on  your  errand,  and  sliall  send  in  my  bill 
in  due  time  ;  and  there  will  be  an  end  of  my  connection  with 
you  as  your  law  agent,  Mr.  Twysden  !'■  cried  "the  old  lawyer. 

"  You  ktiow,  sir,  how  badly  Firmin  acted  to  me  in  the  last 
matter." 

"Faith,  sir,  if  you  ask  my  opinion  as  a  law  agent,  I  don't  think 
there  was  much  to  choose  between  you.  How  much  is  the  sher- 
ry-and-water  ? — keep  the  change.  Sorry  I  'd  no  better^news  to 
bring  you,  Mr.  T.,  and  as  you  are  dissatisfied,  again  recommend 
you  to  employ  another  law  agent." 

u  My  good  sir,  I — " 

«  My  good  sir,  I  have  had  other  dealings  with  your  family,  and 
am  no  more  going  to  put  up  with  your  highti-tightiness  than  I 
would  with  Lord  Ringwood's  when  I  was  one  of  his  law  agents. 
I  am  not  going  to  tell  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  that  his  uncle  and  aunt 
propose  to  ease  him  of  his  property;  but  if  anybody  else  does — 
that  good  little  Mrs.  Brandon,  or  that  old  goose  Mr.  WhatTd'ye- 
eallum,  her  father — I  don't  suppose  he  will  be  over  well  pleased. 
I  am  speaking  as  a  gentleman  now,  no~,  as  a  law  agent,.  You 
and  your  nephew  had  each  a  half  share  of  Mr.  Philip  Firmin's 
grandfather's  property,  and  you  wanted  it  all,  that's  the  truth, 
and  set,  a  law  agent  to  get  it  for  you,  and  swore  at  him  because 
he  could  not  get  it  from  its  right  owner.  And  so,  sir,  I  wish  you 
a  good-morning,  and  recommend  you  to  take  your  papers  to  some 
oilier  agent,  Mr.  Twysden."  And  with  this,  exit  Mr.  Bond. 
And  now  I  ask  you  if  that  secret  could  be  kept  which  was  known 
through  a  trembling;  glass-door  to  Mrs.  Ovcs  of  the  "Admiral 
Byng,'  and  to  Mr.  Ridley,  the  father  of  J.  J.,  and  the  obsequious 
husband  of  Mrs.  Ridley?  On  that  very  afternoon,  at  tea-time, 
Mrs.  Ridley  was  made  acquainted  by  her  husband  (in  his  noble 


1^6  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

and  circumlocutory' manner)  with  the  conversation  which  he  had 
overheard.  It  was  agreed  that  an  embassy  should  be  sent  to  J. 
J.  on  the  business,  and  his  advice  taken  regarding  it ;  and  J.  J.'s 
opinion  was  that  the  conversation  certainly  should  be  reported 
to  Mr.  Philip  Firmin,  who  might  afterward  act  upon  it  as  he 
should  think  best. 

What?  His  own  aunt,  cousins,  and  uncle  agreed  in  a  scheme 
to  overthrow  his  legitimacy,  and  deprive  him  of  his  grandfather's 
inheritance  ?  It  seemed  impossible.  Big  with  the  tremendous 
news,  Philip  came  to  his  adviser,  Mr.  Pendennis,  of  the  Temple, 
and  told  him  what  had  occurred  on  the  part  of  father,  uncle,  and 
Little  Sister.  Her  abnegation  had  been  so  noble  that  you  may 
be  sure  Philip  appreciated  it ;  and  a  tie  of  friendship  wa3  formed 
between  the  young  man  and  the  little  lady  even  more  close  and 
tender  than  that  which  had  bound  them  previously.  But  the 
Twysdens,  his  kinsfolk,  to  employ  a  lawyer  in  order  to  rob  him 
of  his  inheritance ! — Oh,  it  was  dastardly  !  Philip  bawled  and 
stamped,  and  thumped  his  sense  of  the  wrong  in  his  usual  ener- 
getic manner.  As  for  his  cousin  Ringwood  Twysden,  Phil  had 
often  entertained  a  strong  desire  to  wring  his  neck  and  pitch  him 
down  stairs.  "  As  for  ancle  Talbot :  that  he  is  an  old  pump,  that 
he  is  a  pompous  old  humbug,  and  the  queerest  old  sycophant,  I 
grant  you  ;  but  I  could  n't  have  believed  him  guilty  of  this.  And 
as  for  the  girls — oh,  Mrs.  Pendennis,  you  who  are  good,  you  who 
are  kind,  although  you  hate  them,  I  know  you  do — you  can't  say, 
you  won't  say,  that  they  were  in  the  conspiracy  ?" 

"  But  suppose  Twysden  was  asking  only  for  what  he  conceives 
to  be  his  rights  ?"  asked  Mr.  Pendennis.  "  Had  your  father 
been  married  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  you  would  not  have  been  Br. 
Firmin's  legitimate  son.  Had  you  not  been  his  legitimate  son, 
you  had  no  right  to  a  half  share  of  your  grandfather's  property. 
Uncle  Talbot  acts  only  the  part  of  honor  and  justice  in  the  trans- 
action. He  is  Brutus,  and  he  orders  you  off  to  death  with 
a  bleeding  heart." 

"  And  he  orders  his  family  out  of  the  way,"  roars  Phil,  "  so  that 
they  may  n't  be  pained  by  seeing  the  execution  !  I  see  it  all  now. 
I  wish  somebody  would  send  a  knife  through  me  at  once,  and  put 
an  end  to  me.  I  see  it  all  now.  Do  you  know  that  for  the  last 
week  I  have  been  to  Beaunash  street,  and  found  nobody,?  Agnes 
had  the  bronchitis,  and  her  mother  was  attending  to  her;  Blanche 
came  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  was  as  cool — as  cool  as  I  have  seen 
Lady  Iceberg  be  cool  to  her.  Then  they  must  go  away  for 
change  of  air.  They  have  been  gone  these  three  days :  while 
uncle  Talbot  and  that  viper  of  a  Ringwood  have  been  closeted 

with  their  nice  new  friend,  Mr.  Hunt.     O  conf !  I  beg  your 

pardon,  ma'am  ;   but  I  know  you  always  allow  for  the  energy  of 
my  language." 

M I  should  like  to  see  that  Little  Sister,  Mr.  Firmin.     She  has 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  137 

"not  been  selfish,  or  had  any  scheme  but  for  your  good,"  remarks 
my  wife. 

"A  little  angel  who  drops  her  h  's — a  little  heart,  so  good  and 
tender  that  I  melt  as  I  think  of  it,"  says  Philip,  drawing  his  big 
hand  over  his  eyes.  "  What  have  man  done  to  get  the  love  of 
some  women  ?  A\Te  don't  earn  it ;  we  don't  deserve  it,  perhaps. 
We  don't  return  it.  They  bestow  it  on  us.  I  have  given  noth- 
ing back  for  all  this  love  and  kindness,  but  I  look  a  little  like  my' 
father  of  old  days,  for  whom — for  whom  she  had  an  attachment. 
And  see  now  how  she  would  die  to  serve  me !  You  are  wonder- 
ful, women  are !  your  fidelities  and  your  ficklenesses  alike  mar- 
vellous. What  can  any  woman  have  found  to  adore  in  the  doc- 
tor? Do  you  think  my  father  could  ever  have  been  adorable, 
Mrs.  Pendennis  ?  And  yet  I  have  heard  my  poor  mother  say  she 
was  obliged  to  marry  him.  She  knew  it  was  a  bad  match,  but 
she  could  n't  resist  it.  In  what  was  my  father  so  irresistible  ? 
He  is  not  to  my  taste.  Between  ourselves,  I  think  he  is  a — well, 
never  mind  what." 

"  I  think  we  had  best  not  mind  what '?"  says  my  wife,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Quite  right — quite  right  ;  only  I  blurt  out  everything  tlvat  is 
on  my  mind.  Can't  keep  it  in  !"  cries  Phil,  gnawing  his  mus- 
taches. "  If  my  fortune  depended  on  my  silence  I  should  be  a 
beggar,  that 's  the  fact.  And,  you  see,  if  you  had  such  a  father 
as  mine,  you  yourself  would  find  it  rather  difficult  to  hold  your 
tongue  about  him.  But  now,  tell  me  :  this  ordering  away  of  the 
girls  and  aunt  Twysden,  while  the  little  a i tack  upon  my  property 
is  being  carried  on — is  n't  it  queer  V" 

"  The  question  is  at  an  end,"  said  Mr.  Pendennis.  "  You  are 
restored  to  your  alavis  regibus  and  ancestral  honors.  Now  that 
uncle  Twysden  can't  get  the  property  without  you,  have  cour- 
age, my  boy — he  may  take  it,  along  with  the  encumbrance." 

Poor  Phil  had  not  known — but  some  of  us,  who  are  pretty 
clear-sighted  when  our  noble  selves  are  not  concerned,  had  per- 
ceived that  Philip's  dear  aunt  was  playing  fast  and  loose  with  the 
lad,  and  when  his  back  was  turned  was  encouraging  a  richer 
suitor  for  her  daughter. 

Hand  on  heart  I  can  say  of  my  wife  that  she  meddles  with  her 
neighbors  as  little  as  any  person  I  ever  knew  ;  but  when  treach- 
eries in  love  affairs  are  in  question  she  fires  up  at  once,  and 
would  persecute  to  death  almost  the  heartless  male  or  female 
criminal  who  would  break  love's  sacred  laws.  The.  idea  of  a  man 
or  Avoman  trifling  with  that  holy  compact  awakens  in  her  a  fiame 
of  indignation.  Jn  curtain  confidences  (of*  which  let  me  not  vul- 
garize the  arcana}  she  had  given  me  her  mind  about  some  of  Miss 
Twjsdcn's  behavior  with  that  odious  blackamoor,  £s she  chose  to 
call  Captain  Woolcomb,  who,  I  own,  had  a  very  slight  tinge  of 
complexion  ;  and  when,  quoting  the  words  of  Hamlet  regarding 


138.  THE,    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Lis  father  and  mother,  I  asked,  "  Could  she  on  this  fair  mountain 
leave  to  feed,  and  batten  on  this  Moor  ?"  Mrs.  Pendennis  cried 
out  that  Uiis  matter  was  all  too  serious  for  jest,  and  wondered  how 
her  husband  could  make  word-plays  about  it.  Perhaps  she  has 
not  the  exquisite  sense  of  humor  possessed  by  some  folks ;  or  is 
it  that  she  has  more  reverence  ?  la  her  creed,  if  not  in  her 
church,  marriage  is  a  sacrament ;  and  the  fond  believer  never 
Speaks  of  it  without  awe. 

Now,  as  she  expects  both  parties  to  the  marriage  engagement 
to  keep  that  compact  holy,  she  no  more  understands  trifling  with 
it  than  she  could  comprehend  laughing  and  joking  in  a  church. 
She  has  no  patience  with  flirtations,  as  they  are  called.  "  Don't 
tell  me,  sir,"  says  the  enthusiast ;  "  a  light  word  between  a  man 
and  a  married  woman  ought  not  to  be  permitted."  And  this  is 
why  she  is  harder  on  the  woman  than  the  man  in  cases  where 
such  dismal  matters  liappen  to  fall  under  discussion.  A  look,  a 
word  from  a  woman,  she  says,  will  cheek  a  libertine  thought  or 
word  in  a  man  ;  and  these  cases  might  be  stopped  at  once  if  the 
woman  but  showed  the  slightest  resolution.  She  is  thus  more 
angry — (I  am  only  mentioning  the  peculiarities,  not  defending 
the  ethics  of  this  individual  moralist) — she  is,  I  say,  more  angrily 
disposed  toward  the  woman  than  the  man  in  such  delicate  cases; 
and,  I  am  afraid,  considers  that  women  are  for  the  most  part  only 
victims  because  they  choose  to  be  so. 

Now  we  had  happened  during  this  season  to  be  at  several  en- 
tertainments, routs,  and  so  forth,  where  poor  Phil,  owing  to  his 
unhappy  Bohemian  preferences  and  love  of  tobacco,  etc.,  was  not 
present — and  where  we  saw  Miss  Agnes  Twysden  carrying  on 
such  a  game  with  the  tawny  Woolcomb  as  set  Mrs.  Laura  in  a 
tremor  of  indignation.  What  though  Agnes'  blue-eyed  mamma 
sat  near  her  blue-eyed  daughter,  and  kept  her  keen  clear  orbs 
perfectly  wide  open  and  cognizant  of  all  that  happened  V  So 
much  the  worse  for  her — the  worse  for  both.  It  was  a  shame  and 
a  sin  that  a  Christian  English  mother  should  suffer  her  daughter 
to  deal  lightly  with  the  most  holy,  the  most  awful  of  human  con- 
tracts; should  be  preparing  her  child  who  knows  for  what  after 
misery  of  mind  and  soul.  Three  months  ago  you  saw  how  she 
encouraged  poor  Philip,  and  now  see  her  with  this  mulatto  ! 

"  Is  he  not  a  man,  and  a  brother,  my  dear  ?"  perhaps  at  this 
Mr.  Pendennis  interposes. 

"  Oh,  for  shame,  Pen  !  no  levity  on  this — no  sneers  aud  laugh- 
ter on  this  the  most  sacred  subject  of  all."  And  here,  I  dare  say, 
the  woman  falls  to  caressing  her  own  children,  and  hugging  them 
to  her  heart  as  her  manner  was  when  moved.  Que  voulez  vous  f 
There  are  some  women  in  the  world  to  whom  love  and  truth  are 
all  in  all  here  below.  Other  ladies  there  are  who  see  the  benefit 
of  a  good  jointure,  a  town  and  counGry  house,  and  so  forth,  and 
who  are  not  so  very  particular  as  to  the  character,  intellect,  or 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WO*RLD.  139 

complexion  of  gentlemen  who  are  in  a  position  to  offer  theirdear 
girls  these  benefits.  In  fine,  I  say  that,  regarding  this  blue-eyed 
mother  and  daughter,  Mrs.  Laura  Pendennis  was  in  such  a  state 
of  mind  that  she  was  ready  to  tear  their  blue  eyes  out. 

Nay,  it  was  with  no  little  difficulty  that  Mrs.  Laura  could  be 
induced  to  hold  her  tongue  upon  the  matter,  and  not  give  Philip 
her  opinion.  "What?"  she  would  ask,  "  the  poor  young  man 
is  to  be  deceived  and  cajoled  ;  to  be  taken  or  left  as  it  suits  these 
people;  to  be  made  miserable  for  life  certainly  if  she  marries- 
him  ;  and  his  friends  are  not  to  dare  to  warn  him  ?  The  cowards  1 
The  cowardice  of  you  men,  Pen,  upon  matters  of  opinion,  of  you 
masters  and  lords  of  creation,  is  really  despisable,  sir  !  You  dare 
not  have  opinions,  or  holding  them  you  dare  not  declare  them, 
and  act  by  them.  You  compromise  with  crime  every  day,  be- 
cause you  think  it  would  be  offioious'to  declare  yourself  and  in- 
terfere. You  are  not  afraid  of  outraging  morals,  but  of  indicting 
ennui  upon  society,  and  losing  your  popularity.  You  are  as 
cynical  as. — as,  what  was  the  name  of  the  horrid  old  man  who 
lived  in  the  tub — Demosthenes  ? — well,  Diogenes,  then,  and  the 
name  does  not  matter  a  pin,  sir.  You  are  as  cynical,  only  you 
wear  fine  ruffled  shirts  'and  wristbands,  and  you  carry  your 
lantern  dark.  It  is  not  right  to  '  put  your  oar  in,'  as  you  say  in 
your  jargon  (and  even  your  slang  is  a  sort  of  cowardice,  sir,  foi> 
you  are  afraid  to  speak  the  feelings  of  your  heart) — it  is  not  right 
to  meddle  and  speak  the  truth,  not  right  to  rescue  a  poor  soul 
who  is  drowning — of  course  not.  What  call  have  you  fine  gen- 
tlemen of  the  world  to  put  your  oar  in  ?  Let  him  perish  !  What 
did  he  in  that  galley  ?  That  is  the  language  of  the  world,  baby 
darling.  And,  my  poor,  poor  child,  when  you  are  sinking,  no- 
body is  to  stretch  out  a  hand  to  save  you  !"  As  for  that  wife  of 
mine,  when  she  sets  forth  the  maternal  plea,  and  appeals  to  the 
exuberant  school  of  philosophers,  I  know  there  is  no  reasoning 
with  her.  I  retire  to  my  books,  and  leave  her  to  kiss  out  the  rest 
of  the  argument  over  the  children. 

Philip  did  not  know  the  extent  of  the  obligation  which  he 
owed  to  his  little  friend  and  guardian,  Caroline ;  but  he  was 
aware  that  he  had  no  better  friend  than  herself  in  the  world  ; 
and,  I  dare  say,  returned  to  her,  as  the  wont  is  in  such  bargains 
between  man  and  woman — woman  and  man,  at  least — a  sixpence 
for  that  pure  gold  treasure,  her  sovereign  affection.  I  suppose 
Caroline  thought  her  sacrifice  gave  her  a  little  authority  to  coun- 
sel Philip;  for  she  it  was  who,  I  believe,  first  bid  him  to  inquire 
whether  that  engagement  which  he  had  virtually  contracted  with 
his  cousin  was  likely  to  lead  to  good,  and  was  to  be  binding  upon 
him  but  not  on  her '?  She  brought  Ridley  to  add  his  doubts  to 
her  remonstrances.  She  shewed  Philip  that  not  only  his  uncle's 
conduct,  but  his  cousin's,  was  interested,  and  set  him  to  inquire 
into  it  further. 


140  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

That  peculiar  form  of  bronchitis  under  which  poor  dear  Agnes 
was  suffering  was  relieved  by  absence  from  London.  The  smoke, 
the  crowded  parties  and  assemblies,  the  late  hours,  and,  perhaps, 
the  gloom  of  the  house  in  Beaunash  street,  distressed  the  poor, 
dear  child  ;  and  her  cough  was  very  much  soothed  by'that  fine, 
cutting  east  wind  which  blows  so  liberally  along  the  Brighton 
cliffs,  and  which  is  so  good  for  coughs,  as  we  all  know.  But 
there  was  one  fault  in  Brighton  which  could  not  be  helped  in  her 
bad  case :  it  is  too  near  London.  The  air,  that  chartered  liber- 
tine, can  blow  down  from  London  quite  easily ;  or  people  can 
come  from  London  to  Brighton,  bringing,  I  dare  say,  the  insidi- 
ous London  fog  along  with  them.  At  any  rate,  Agnes,  if  she- 
wished  for  quiet,  poor  thing,  might  have  gone  farther  and  fared 
better.  Why,  if  you  owe  a  tailor  a  bill,  he  can  run  down  and 
present  it  in  a  few  hours.  Vulgar,  inconvenient  acquaintances 
thrust  themselves  upon  you  at  every  moment  and  corner.  Was 
ever  such  a  lohubohu  of  people  as  there  assembles  ?  You  can't 
be  tranquil,  if  you  will.  Organs  pipe  and  scream  without  cease 
at  your  windows.  Your  name  is  put  down  in  the  papers  when 
you  arrive ;  and  everybody  meets  everybody  ever  so  many  times 
a  day. 

On  finding  that  his  uncle  had  set  lawyers  to  work,  with  the 
charitable  purpose  of  ascertaining  whether  Philip's  property  was 
legitimately  his  own,  Philip  was  a  good  deal  disturbed  in  mind. 
He  could  not  appreciate  that  high  sense  of  moral  obligation  by 
which  Mr.  Twysden  was  actuated.  At  leas,t,  he  thought  that 
these  inquiries  should  not  have  been  secretly  set  afoot ;  and  as 
he  himself  was  perfectly  open — a  great  deal  too  open,  perhaps — 
in  his  words  and  his  actions,  he  was  hard  with  those  who  attempt- 
ed to  hoodwink  or  deceive  him. 

It  could  not  be ;  ah  !  no,  it  never  could  be,  that  Agnes,  the 
pure  and  gentle,  was  privy  to  this  conspiracy.  But  then,  how 
very — very  often  of  late  she  had  been  from  home ;  how  very, 
very  cold  aunt  Twysden's  shoulder  had  somehow  become !  Once, 
when  he  reached  the  door,  a  fishmonger's  boy  was  leaving  a  fine 
salmon  at  the  kitchen — a  salmon  and  a  tub  of  ice.  Once,  twice, 
at  five  o'clock,  when  he  called,  a  smell  of  cooking  pervaded  the 
hall — that  hall  which  culinary  odors  very  seldom  visited.  Some 
of  those  noble  Twysden  dinners  were  on  the  tapis,  and  Philip  was 
not  asked.  Not  to  be  asked  was  no  great  deprivation  ;  but  who 
were  the  guests  V  To  be  sure,  these  were  trifles  light  as  air ; 
but  Philip  smelled  mischief  in  the  steam  of  those  Twysden  din- 
ners. He  chewed  that  salmon  with  a  bitter  sauce  as  he  saw  it 
sink  down  the  area  steps  (and  disappear  with  its  attendant  lob- 
ster) in  the  dark  kitchen  regions. 

Yes ;  eyes  were  somehow  averted  that  used  to  look  into  his 
very  frankly ;  a  glove  somehow  had  grown  over  a  little  hand 
which  once  used  to  lie  very  comfortably  in  his  broad  palm.     Was 


ON   niS   WAY   THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  141 

anybody  else  going  to  seize  it,  and  was  it  going  to  paddle  in  that 
blackamoor's  unblessed  fingers  ?  Ah,  fiends  and  tortures !  a 
gentleman  may  cease  to  love,  but  does  he  like  a  woman  to  cease 
to  love  him  V  People  carry  on  ever  so  long  for  fear  of  that  dec- 
laration that  all  is  over.  No  confession  is  more  dismal  to  make. 
The  sun  of  love  has  set.  We  sit  in  the  dark.  I  mean  you,  dear 
madam,  and  Corydon,  or  I  and  Amaryllis;  uncomfortably,  with 
nothing  more  to  say  to  one  another;  with  the  night-dew  falling, 
and  a  risk  of  catching  cold,  drearily  contemplating  the  fading 
west,  with  "  the  cold  remains  of  lustre  gone,  of  fire  long  passed 
away."  Sink,  fire  of  love !  Rise,  gentle  moon,  and  mists  of 
chilly  evening!  And,  my  good  Madam  Amaryllis,  let  us  go 
home  to  some  tea  and  a  fire. 

So  Philip  determined  to  go  and  seek  his  cousin.  Arrived  at 
his  hotel  (and  if  it  were  the  *  *  I  can't  conceive  Philip  in 
much  better  quarters),  he  had  the  opportunity  of  inspecting  those 
delightful  newspaper  arrivals,  a  perusal  of  which  has  so  often 
edified  us1  at  Brighton.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Penfold,  he  was  informed, 
continued  their  residence,  No.  96  Horizontal  Place;  and  it  was 
with  those  guardians  he  knew  his  Agnes  was  staying.  He  speeds 
to  Horizontal  Place.  Miss  Twysden  is  out.  He  heaves  a  sigh, 
and  leaves  a  card.  Has  it  ever  happened  to  you  to  leave  a  card 
at  that  house — that  house  which  was  once  the  house — almost 
your  own ;  where  you  were  ever  welcome ;  where  the  kindest 
hand  was  ready  to  grasp  yours,  the  brightest  eye  to  greet  you  ? 
And  now  your  friendship  has  dwindled  away  to  a  little  bit  of 
pasteboard,  shed  once  a  year,  and  poor  dear  Mrs.  Jones  (it  is 
with  J.  you  have  quarrelled)  still  calls  on  the  ladies  of  your 
family  and  slips  her  husband's  ticket  upon  the  hall  table.  Oh 
life  and  time,  that  it  should  have  come  to  this !  Oh  gracious 
powers  1  •  Do  you  recall  the  time  when  Arabella  Briggs  was 
Arabella  Thompson  !  You  call  and  talk  fadaises  to  her  (at  first 
she  is  rather  nervous  and'  has  the  children  in)  ;  you  talk  rain 
and  fine  weather ;  the  last  novel ;  the  next  party ;  Thompson  in 
the  City  ?  Yes,  Mr.  Thompson  is  in  the  City.  He  's  pretty 
well,  thank  you.  Ah  !  Daggers,  ropes,  and  poisons,  has  it  come 
to  this  ?  You  are  talking  about  the  weather,  and  another  man's 
health,  and  another  man's  children,  of  which  she  is  mother,  to 
her  ?  Time  was  the  weather  was  all  a  burning  sunshine,  in 
which  you  and  she  basked ;  or  if  clouds  gathered,  and  a  storm 
fell,  such  a  glorious  rainbow  haloed  round  you, -such  delicious 
tears  fell  and  refreshed  you,  that  the  storm  was  more  ravishing 
than  the  calm.  And  now  another  man's  children  are  sitting  on 
her  knee — their  mother's  knee ;  and  once  a  year  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
John  Thompson  request  the  honor  of  Mr.  Brown's  company  at 
dinner ;  and  once  a  year  you  read  in  the  Times,  "  In  Nursery- 
street,  the  wife  of  J.  Thompson,  Esq.,  of  a  son."  To  come  to  the 
oncc-bcloved  one's  door,  and  find  the  knocker  tied  up  with  a 


142  THE    .'.DVEN1CRE8    OF    PHILIP 

white  kid-glove,  is  humiliating — say  what  you  will,  it  is  humiliat- 
ing. 

Philip  leaves  his  card  and  walks  on  to  the  Cliff,  and,  of  course, 
in  three  minutes  meets  Clinker.  Indeed,  who  ever  went  to 
Brighton  for  half  an  hour  without  meeting  Clinker? 

"  Father  pretty  well  ?  His  old  patient,  Lady  Geminy,  is  down 
here  with  the  children — what  a  number  of  them  there  are,  to  be 
sure  !  Come  to  make  any  stay  ?  See  your  cousin,  Miss  Twys- 
den,  is  here  with  the  Pen  folds.  Little  party  at  the  Grigsons' 
last  night;  she  looked  uncommonly  well;  danced  ever  so  many 
times  with  the  Black  .Prince,  Woolccmb,  of  the  Greens.  Sup- 
pose I  may  congratulate  you.  Six  thousand  five  Jmndred  a  y^ar 
now,  and  thirteen  thousand  when  his  grandmother  dies ;  but 
those  n egresses  live  for  ever.  I  suppose  the  thing  is  settled.  I 
saw  them  on  the  pier  just  now,  and  Mrs.  Penfold  was  reading  a 
book  in  the  arbor.  Book  of  sermons  it  was — pious  woman,  Mrs. 
Penfold.  I  dare  say  they  are  on  the  pier  still/'  Striding  with 
hurried  steps,  Philip  Firmin  makes  for  the  pier.  The  breathless 
Clinker  can  not  keep  alongside  of  his  face.  I  should  like  to  have 
seen  it  when  Clinker  said  that  "the  thing"  was  settled  between 
Miss  Twysden  and  the  cavalry  gentleman. 

There  were  a  few  nursery-governesses,  maids,  and  children 
paddling  about  at  the  end  of  the  pier ;  and  there  was  a  fat  wom- 
an reading  a  book  in  one  ofthe  arbors — but  no  Agnes,  no  Wool- 
comb.  Where  can  they  be  ?  Can  they  be  weighing  each  other? 
or  buying  those  mad-  pebbles,  which  people  are  known  to  pur- 
chase ?  or  having  their  silhouettes  done  in  black  ?  Ha !  ha ! 
Woolcomb  would  hardly  have  his  face  done  in  black.  The  idea 
would  provoke  odious  comparisons.  I  see  Philip  is  in  a  dread- 
fully bad  sarcastic  humor. 

Up  there  comes  from  one  of  those  trap-doors  which  lead  down 
from  the  pier  head  to  the  green  sea-waves  ever  restlessly  jump- 
ing below — up  there  comes  a  little  Skye-terrier  dog  with  a  red 
collar,  who,  as  soon  as  she  sees  Philip,  sings,  squeaks,  whines, 
runs,  jumps,  y?mftjDS  up  on  him,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  kisses 
his  hands,  and  with  ayes,  tongue,  paws,  and  tail  shows  him  a 
thousand  marks  of  welcome  and  affection.  What,  Brownie, 
Brownie  !  Philip  is  glad  to  see  the  dog,  an  old  friend  who  has 
many  a  time  licked"  his  hand  and  bounced  upon  his  knee. 

The  greeting  over,  Brownie,  wagging  her  tail  with  prodigious 
activity,  trots  before  Philip — trots  down  an  opening,  down  the 
steps  under  which  the  waves  shimmer  greenly,  and  into  quite  a 
quiet  remote  corner  just  over  the  water,  whence  you  may  com- 
mand a  most  beautiful  view  of  the  sea,  the  shore,  the  Marine 
Parade,  and  the  Albion  Hotel,  and  where,  were  I  five-and-twen- 
ty  say,  with  nothing  else  to  do,  I  would  gladly  pass  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  talking  about  Glaucus  or  the  Wonders  ofthe  Deep  with 
the  object  of  my  affections. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  143 

Here,  among  the  labyrinth  of  piles.  Brownie  goes  flouncing 
alorvg  till  she  comes  to  a  young  couple  who  are  looking  at  the 
view  just  described.  In  order  to  view  it  better,  the  young  man 
has  laid  his  hand — a  pretty  little  hand,  most  delicately  gloved — 
on  the  lady's  hand  ;  and  Brownie  comes  up  and  nuzzles  against 
her,  and  whines  and  talks  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Here  's  somebody/' 
and  the  lady  says,  "Down,  Brownie,  miss  I" 

"  It  *s  no  good,  Agnes,  that  dog,"  says  the'gentleman  (he  has 
very  curly,  not  to  tay  woolly  hair,  under  his  natty  little  hat). 
"I  '11  give  you  a  pug  with  a  nose  you  can  hang  your  hat  on.  I 
do  know  of  one  now.  My  man  llummins  knows  of  one.  Do 
you  like  pugs'?" 

"  I  adore  them,"  says  the  lady. 

"  I  '11  give  you  one,  if  I  have  to  pay  fifty  pounds  for  it.  And 
they  fetch  a  good  figure,  the  real  pugs  do,  I  can  tell  you.  Once 
in  London  there  was  an  exhibition  of  'em,  and — " 

"  Brownie,  Brownie,  down ! '  cries  Agnes.  The  dog  was 
jumping  at  a  gentleman,  a  tall  gentleman  with  red  mustaches 
and  beard,  who  advances  through  the  checkered  shade,  under 
the  ponderous  beams,  over  the  translucent  sea. 

"Pray  don't  mind,  Brownie  won't  hurt  me,"  says  a  perfectly 
well-known  voice,  the  sound  of  which  sends  all  the  colors  shud- 
dering out  of  Miss  Agnes'  pink  cheeks. 

"  You  see  I  gave  my  cousin  this  dog,  Captain  Woolcomb," 
says  the  gentleman;  "and  the  little  slut  remembers  me.  Per- 
haps Miss  Twysden  prefers  the  pug  better." 

"  Sir  1" 

"  If  it  has  a  nose  you  can  hang  your  hat  on,  it  must  be  a  very 
pretty  dog,  and  I  suppose  you  intend  to  hang  your  hat  on  it  a 
good  deal." 

"  Oh,  Philip!"  says  the  lady;  but  an  attack  of  that  dreadful 
coughing  stops  further  utterance. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CONTAINS  TWO  OF  PHILIP'S  MISHAPS. 

You  know  that,  in  some  parts  of  India,  infanticide  is  the  com- 
mon custom.  It  is  part  of  the  religion  of  the  land,  as,  in  other 
districts,  widow-burning  used  to  be.  I  can't  imagine  that  ladies 
like  to  destroy  either-themselves  or  their  children,  though  they 
submit  with  bravery,  and  even  cheerfulness,  to  the  decrees  of  that 
religion  which  orders  them  to  make  away  with  their  own  or  their 
young  ones'  lives.     Now,  suppose  you  and  I,  as  Europeans,  hap- 

Eened  to  drive  up  where  a  young  creature  was  just  about  to  roast 
erself,  under  the  advice  of  her  family  and  the  highest  dignita- 


144  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

rics  of  her  church :  what  could  we  do  V  Rescue  her  ?  No  such 
thing.  We  know  better  than  to  interfere  with  her,  and  the  laws 
and  usages  of  her  country.  We  turn  away  with  a  sigh  from  the 
mournful  scene ;  we  pull  out  our  pocket-handkerchiefs,  tell  coach- 
man to  drive  on,  and  leave  her  to  her  sad  fate. 

Now  about  poor  Agnes  Twysden :  how,  in  the  name  of  good- 
ness, can  we  help  her  ?  You  see  she  is  a  well  brought  up  and  re- 
ligious young  woman  of  the  Brahminical  sect.  If  she  is  to  be 
sacrificed,  that  old  Brahmin  her  father,  that  good  and  devout 
mother,  that  most  special  Brahmin  her  brother,  and  that  admira- 
ble girl  her  strait-laced  sister,  all  insist  upon  her  undergoing  the 
ceremony,  and  deck  her  with  flowers  ere  they  lead  her  to  that 
dismal  altar  flame.  Suppose,  I  say,  she  has  made  up  her  mind  to 
throw  over  poor  Philip,  and  take  on  with  some  one  else  ?  What 
sentiment  ought  our  virtuous  bosoms  to  entertain  toward  her? 
Anger  V  I  have  just  been  holding  a  conversation  with  a  young 
fellow  in  rags  and  without  shoes,  whose  bed  is  commonly  a  dry 
arch,  who  has  been  repeatedly  in  prison,  whose  father  and  moth- 
er were  thieves,  and  whose  grandfathers  were  thieves ;  are  we  to 
be  angry  with  him  for  following  the  paternal  profession  ?  With 
one  eye  brimming  with  pity,  the  other  steadily  keeping  watch 
over  the  family  spoons,  I  listen  to  his  artless  tale.  I  have  no  an- 
ger against  that  child ;  nor  toward  thee,  Agnes,  daughter  of  Tal- 
bot the  Brahmin. 

For  though  duty  is  duty,  when  it  comes  to  the  pinch  it  is  often 
hard  to  do.  Though  dear  papa  and  mamma  say  that  here  is  a 
gentleman  with  ever  so  many  thousands  a  year,  an  undoubted 
part  in  So-and-So-shire,  and  whole  islands  in  the  western  main, 
who  is  wildly  in  love  with  your  fair  skin  and  blue  eyes,  and  is 
ready  to  fling  all  his  treasure  at  your  feet ;  yet,  after  all,  when 
you  consider  that  he  is  very  ignorant,  though  very  cuuning; 
very  stingy,  though  very  rich  ;  very  ill-tempered,  probably,  if 
faces,  and  eyes,  and  mouth  can  tell  truth :  and  as  for  Philip  Fir- 
min — though  actually  his  legitimacy  is  dubious,  as  we  have  lately 
heard,  in  which  case  his  maternal  fortune  is  ours — and  as  for  his 
paternal  inheritance,  we  don't  know  whether  the  doctor  is  worth 
thirty  thousand  pounds  or  a  shilling ;  yet,  after  all — as  for  Philip 
— he  is  a  man  ;  he  is  a  gentleman  ;  he  has  brains  in  his  head,  and 
a  great  honest  heart  of  which  he  has  offered  to  give  the  best 
feelings  to  his  cousin  ;  I  say,  when  a  poor  girl  has  to  be  off  with 
that  old  love,  that  honest  and  fair  love,  and  be  on  with  the  new 
one,  the  dark  one,  I  feel  for  her ;  and  though  the  Brahmins  are, 
as  we  kr\pw,  the  most  genteel  sect  in  Hindostan,  I  rather  wish 
the  poor  child  could  have  belonged  to  some  lower  and  less  rigid 
sect.  Poor  Agnes!  to  think  that  he  has  sat  for  hours,  with  mam- 
ma, and  Blanche,  or  the  governess,  of  course,  in  the  room  (for, 
you  know,  when  she  and  Philip  were  quite  wee  wee  things  dear 
mamma  had  little  amiable  plans  in  view)  ;  has  sat  for  hours  by 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  145 

Miss  Twysden's  side  pouring  out  his  heart  to  her,  has  had,  may- 
hap, litlle  precious  moments  of  confidential  talk — little  hasty 
■whispers  in  corridors,  on  stairs,  behind  window-curtains,  and — 
and  so  forth,  in  fact.  She  must  remember  all  this  past ;  and  can't, 
without  some  pang,  listen  on  the  game  sofa,  behind  the  same 
•window-curtains,  to  her  dark  suitor  pouring  out  his  artless  tales 
of  barracks,  boxing,  horse-ilcsh,  and  the  tender  passion.  He  is 
dull,  he  is  mean,  he  is  ill-tempered,  he  is  ignorant,  and  the  other 
was....  ;  but  she  will  do  her  duty;  oh,  yes!  she  will  do  her 
duty  !  Poor  Agnes  !  C'est  afendre  le  cetur.  I  declare  I  quite 
feci  for  her. 

When  Philip's  temper  was  roused,  I  have  been  compelled,  as 
his  biographer,  to  own  how  very  rude  and  disagreeable  he  could 
be ;  and  you  must  acknowledge   that  a  young  man  has  some 
reason  to  be  displeased  when  he  finds  the  girl  of  his  heart  hand 
in  hand  with  another  young  gentleman  in  an  occult  and  shady 
recess  of  the  wood-work  of  Brighton  Pier.     The  green  waves  are 
softly  murmuring:  so  is  the  officer  of  the  Life  Guards  Green. 
The  waves  are  kissing  the  beach.     Ah,  agonizing  thought !     I 
will  not  pursue  the  simile,  which  may  be  but  a  jealous  man's  mad 
fantasy.     01'  this  I  am  sure,  no  pebble  on  that  beach  is  cooler 
than  polished  Agnes.     But,  then,  Philip  drunk  with  jealousy  is 
not  a  reasonable  being  like  Philip  sober.     "  He  had  a  dreadful 
temper,"  Philip's  dear  aunt  said  of  him  afterward — "  I  trembled 
for  my  dear,  gentle  child,  united  for  ever  to  a  man  of  that  vio- 
lence.    Never,  in  my  secret  mind,  could  I  think  that  their  union 
could  be  a  happy  one.     Besides,  you  know,  the  nearness  of  their 
relationship.     My  scruples  on  that  score,  dear  Mrs.  Candor,  nev- 
er, never  could  be  got  quite  over."     And  these  scruples  came  to 
weigh  whole  tons  when  Mangrove  Hall,  the  house  in  Berkeley 
Square,  and  Mr.  Wook'omb's'West  India  island,  were  put  into  the 
scale  along  with  them. 

Of  course  there  was  no  good  in  remaining  among  those  damp, 
reeking  timbers,  now  that  the  pretty  little  tete-a-tete  Avas  over. 
Little  Brownie  hung  fondling  and  whining  round  Philip's  ankles, 
as  the  party  ascended  to  the  upper  air."  "My  child,  how  pale 
you  look !"  cries  Mrs.  Penfold,  putting  down  her  volume.  Out 
of  the  captain's  opal  eyeballs  shot  lurid  flames,  and  hot  blood 
burned  behind  his  yellow  cheeks.  In  a  quarrel  Mr.  Philip  Fir- 
min  could  be  particularly  cool  and  self-possessed.  When  Miss 
Agues  rather  piteously  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Penfold,  he  made 
a  bow  as  polite  and  gracious  as  any  performed  by  his  royal  fa- 
ther. "  M>-  little  dog  knew  me/'  he  said,  caressing  the  animal. 
"  She  is  a  faithful  liitle  thing,  and  she  led  me  down  to  my  cousin; 
and— Captain  Woolcomb,  I  think,  is  your  name,  sir  !" 

As  Philip  curls  his  mustache  and  smiles  blandly,  Captain  Wool- 
comb  pulls  his  and  acowls  fiercely.     "  Yes,  sir,"  he  mutters,  "  my 
name  is  Wooieomb."     Another  bow  and  a  touch  of  tbe  hat  from 
13 


HQ  THE    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

Mr.  Firmin.     A  touch  ? — a  gracious  wave  of  the  hat ;  acknowl- 
edged by  no  means  so  gracefully  by  Captain  Woolcomb. 

To  these  remarks  Mrs.  Penfold  says,  "  Oh  !"  In  fact,  »  Oh  I" 
is  about  the  best  thing  that  could  be  said  under  the  circum- 
stances. 

"  My  cousin,  Miss  Twysden,  looks  so  pale  because  she  was  out 
very  late  dancing  last  night.  I  hear  it  was  a  very  pretty  ball.  But 
ought  she  to  keep  such'late  hours,  Mrs.  Penfold,  with  her  deli- 
cate health?  Indeed,  you  ought  not,  Agnes!  Ought  she  to 
keep  late  hours,  Brownie  ?  There — don't,  you  little  foolish  thing ! 
I  o-ave  my  cousin  the  dog :  and  she  's  very  fond  of  me— the  dog 
is — stiH.  You  were  saying,  Captain  Woolcomb,  .when  I  came 
up,  that  you  would  give  Miss  Twysden"  a  dog  on  whose  nose  you 
could  hang  your I  beg  pardon  V" 

Mr.  Woolcomb,  as  Philip  made  this  second  allusion  to  the  pe- 
culiar nasal  formation  of  the  pug,  ground  his  little  white  teeth 
ton-ether,'  and  let  slip  a  most  improper  monosyllable.  More  acute 
bronchial  suffering  was  manifested  on  the  part  of  Miss  Twysden. 
Mrs.  Penfold  said,  "  The  day  is  clouding  over.  I  think,  Agnes, 
I  will  have  my  chair  and  go  home." 

"May  I  be  allowed  to  walk  with  you  as  far  as  your  house  ?" 
says  Philip,  twiddling  a  little  locket  which  he  wore  at  his  watch- 
chain.  It  was  a  little  gold  locket,  with  a  little  pale  hair  inside. 
Whose  hair  could  it  have  been  that  was  so  pale  and  fine  ?  As 
for  the  pretty,  hieroglyphical  A.  T.  at  the  back,  those  letters 
might  indicate  Alfred  Tennyson,  or  Anthony  Trollope,  who 
might  have  given  a  lock  of  their  golden  hair  to  Philip,  for  I  know 
he  is  an  admirer  of  their  works. 

Agnes  looked  guiltily  at  the  little  locket.  Captain  Woolcomb 
pulled  his  mustache  so,  that  you  would  have  thought  he  would 
have  pulled  it  off;  and  his  opal  eyes  glared  with  fearful  confu- 
sion and  wrath. 

"  Will  you  please  to  fall  back  and  let  me  speak  to  you,  Agnes  ? 
Pardon  me,  Captain  Woolcomb,  I  have  a  private  message  for  my 
cousin ;  and  I  came  from  London  expressly  to  deliver  it." 

"If. Miss  Twysden  desires  me  to  withdraw,  I  fall  back  in  one 
moment,"  says  the  captain,  clenching  the  little  lemon-colored 
gloves. 

"  My  cousin  and  I  have  lived  together  all  our  lives,  and  I  bring 
her  a  family  message.  Have  you  any  particular  claim  to  hear  it, 
Captain  Woolcomb  ?" 

"  Not  if  Miss  Twysden  don't-want  me  to  hear  it  ..•'...    J) 

the  little  brute !" 

"Don't  kick  poor  little  harmless  Brownie!  He  shan't  kick 
you,  shall  he,  Brownie  ?•" 

"  If  the  brute  comes  between  my  shins,  I  '11  kick  her  !"  shrieks 
the  captain.     "  Hang  her,  I  '11  throw  her  into  the  sea !" 

"  Whatever  you  dp  to  my  dog  I  swear  I  will  do  to  you  !"  whis- 
pers Philip  to  the  captain. * 


OS    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    TTtB    WORLD.  WW 

"  Where  are  you  staying  ?"  shrieks  the  captain.  "  Hang  you, 
you  shall  hear  from  me." 

"  Quiet — Bedford  Hotel.  Easy,  or  I  shall  think  you  want  the 
ladies  to  overhear." 

"  Your  conduct  is  horrible,  sir,"  says  Agnes,  rapidly,  in  the 
French  language.     "  Mr.  does  not  comprehend  it." 

"  —  It!  If  you  have  any  secrets  to  talk,  I'll  withdraw  fast 
enough,  Miss  Agnes,"  says  Othello. 

"  Oh,  Gren  ville  !  can  I  have  any  secrets  from  you  ?  Mr.  Firmin 
is  my  first-cousin.  We  have  lived  together  all  our  lives.  Philip, 
I — I  don't  know  whether  mamma  announced  to  you — my — my 
engagement  with  Captain  Grenville  Woolcomb."  The  agitation 
has  brought  on  another  severe  bronchial  attack.  Poor  little 
Agnes  !     What  it  is  to  have  a  delicate  throat ! 

The  pier  tosses  up  to  the  skies,  as  though  it  had  left  its  moor- 
ings— the  houses  on  the  cliff  dance  and  reel,  as  though  an  earth- 
quake was  driving  them — the  sea  walks  up  into  the  lodging- 
houses — and  Philip's  legs  are  failing  from  under  him:  it  is  only 
for  a  moment.  When  you  havt)  a  large,  tough  double  tooth  out, 
does  n't  the  chair  go  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  your  head  come  oil 
too  ?  But  in  the  next  instant  there  is  a  grave  gentleman  before 
you  making  you  a  bow,  and  concealing  something  in  his  right 
sleeve.  The  crash  is  over.  You  are  a  man  again.  Philip  clutches 
hold  of  the  chain-pier  for  a  minute  ;  it  does  not  sink  under  him. 
The  houses,  after  reeling  for  a  second  or  two,  resume  the  per- 
pendicular and  bulge  their  bow-windows  toward  the  main.  He 
can  see  the  people  looking  from  the  windows,  the  carriages  pass- 
ing, Professor  Spurrier  riding  on  the  cliff  with  eighteen  young 
ladies,  his  pupils.  In  long  after-days  he  remembers  those  absurd 
little  incidents  with  a  curious  tenacity. 

"  This  news,"  Philip  says,  "  was  not — not  altogether  unexpect- 
ed. I  congratulate  my  cousin,  I  am  sure.  Captain  Woolcomb, 
had  I  known  this  for  certain,  I  am  sure  I  should  not  have  inter- 
rupted you.  You  were  going,  perhaps,  to  ask  me  to  your  hos- 
pitable, house,  Mrs.  Penfold  ?" 

"  Was  she,  though  ?"  cries  the  captain. 

"IJiave  asked  a  friend  to  dine  with  me  at  the  Bedford,  and 
shall  go.  to  town,  I  hope,  in  the  morning.  Can  I  take  anything 
for  you,  Agnes  ?  Good-by  :"  and  he  kisses  his  hand  in  quite  a 
de'(/age  manner,  as  Mrs.  Penfold's  chair  turns  eastward  and  he 
goes  to  the  west.  Silently  the  tall  Agnes  sweeps  along,  a  fair 
hand  laid  upon  her  friend's  chair. 

It  's  over  !  it  's  over  !  She  has  done  it.  lie  was  bound,  and 
kept  his  honor,  but  she  did  not:  it  was  she  who  forsook  him. 
And  \  fear  very  much  Mr.  Philip's  heart  leaps  with  pleasure  and 
an  immense  sensation  of  relief  at  thinking  he  is  free.  He  meets 
half  a  dozen  acquaintances  on  the  cliff.  He  laughs,  jokes,  shakes 
hands,  invites  two  or  three  to  dinner  in  the  gayest  manner.     He 


14  8  THE    ADVENTTRES    OF    PHILIP 

sits  down  on  that  green,  not  very  far  from  his  inn,  and  is  laugh- 
ing to  himself,  when  he  suddenly  feels  something  nestling  at  his 
knee — rubbing,  and  nestling,  and  whining  plaintively.  "  What, 
is  that  you  '?'.'  It  is  little  Brownie,  who  has  followed  him.  Poor 
little  rogue ! 

Then  Philip  bent  down  his  head  over  the  dog,  and  as  it  jump- 
ed on  him,  with  little  bleats,  and  whines,  and  innocent  caresses, 
he  broke  out  into  a  sob,  and  a  great  refreshing  rain  of  tears  fell 
from  his  eyes.  Such  a  little  illness!  Such  a  mild  fever!  Such 
a  speedy  cure !  Some  people  have  the  complaint  so  mildly  that 
they  are  scarcely  ever  kept  to  their  beds.  Some  bear  its  scars 
for  ever. 

Philip  sate  resolutely  at  the  hotel  all  night,  having  given  spe- 
cial orders  to  the  porter  to  say  that  he  was  at  home,  in  case  any 
gentleman  should  call.  He  had  a  faint  hope,  he  afterward  owned, 
that  some  friend  of  Captain  Woolcomb  might  wait  on  him  on 
that  officer's  part.  He  had  a  faint  hope  that  a  letter  might  come 
explaining  that  treason — as  people  will  have  a  sick,  gnawing, 
yearning,  foolish  desire  for  letters — letters  which  contain  nothing, 
which  never  did  contain  anything — letters  which,  nevertheless,' 
you —  You  know,  in  fact,  about  those  letters,  and  there  is  no 
earthly  use  in  asking  to  read  Philip's.  Have  we  not  all  read 
those  love-letters  which,  after  love-quarrels,  come  into  court 
sometimes  ?  We  have  all  read  them  ;  and  how  many  have  writ- 
ten them  ?  Nine  o'clock.  Ten  o'clock.  Eleven  o'clock.  No 
challenge  from  the  captain  ;  no  explanation  from  Agnes.  Philip 
declares  he  slept  perfectly  well.  But  poor  little  Brownie  the 
dog  made  a  piteous  howling  all  night  in  the  stables.  She  was 
not  a  well-bred  dog.  You  could  have  hung  the  least  hat  on  her 
nose. 

We  compared  anon  our  dear  Agnes  to  a  Brahmin  lady,  meekly 
offering  herself  up  to  sacrifice  according  to  the  practice  used  in 
her  highly  respectable  caste.  Did  we  speak  in  anger  or  in  sor- 
row ? — surely  in  terms  of  respectful  grief  and  sympathy.  And 
if  we  pity  her,  ought  we  not  likewise  to  pity  her  highl)r  respect- 
able parents  ?  When  the  notorious  Brutus  ordered  his  sons  to 
execution,  you  can't  suppose  he  was  such  a  brute  as  to  be  pleas- 
ed ?  All  three  parties  suffered  by  the  transaction :  the  sons, 
probably,  even  more  than  their  austere  father ;  but  it  stands  to 
reason  that  the  whole  trio  were  very  melancholy.  At  least, 
were  I  a  poet  or  musical  composer  depicting  that  business,  I  cer- 
tainly should  make  them  so.  The  sons,  piping  in  a  very  minor 
key  indeed ;  the  father's  manly  basso,  accompanied  by  deep 
wind-instruments,  and  interrupted  by  appropriate  sobs.  Though 
pretty,  fair  Agnes  is  being  led  to  execution,  I  don't  suppose  she 
likes  it,  or  that  her  parents  are  happy,  who  are  compelled  to 
order  the  tragedy. 

That  the  rich  young  proprietor  of  Mangrove  Hall  should  be 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  140 

fond  of  her  was  merely  a  coincidence,  Mrs.  Twysden  afterward 
always  averred.  Not  for  mere  wealth — ah,  no  !  not  for  mines  of 
gold — would  they  sacrifice  their  darling  child  !  But  when  that 
sad  Firmin  affair  happened',  you  see  it  also  happened  that  Cap- 
tain Woolcomb  was  much  struck  by  dear  Agnes,  whom  he  met 
everywhere.  Her  scapegrace  of  a  cousin  would  go  nowhere, 
lie  preferred  his  bachelor  associates,  and  horrible  smoking  and 
drinking  habits,  to  the  amusements  and  pleasures  of  more  re- 
fined society.  He  neglected  Agnes.  There  is  not  the  slightest 
doubt  he  neglected  and  mortified  her,  and  his  wilful  and  frequent 
absence  showed  how  little,  he  cared  for  her.  Would  you  blame 
the  dear  girl  for  coldness  to  a  man  who  himself  showed  such  in- 
difference to  her?  "No,  my  good  Mrs.  Candor.  Had  Mr.  Fir*- 
min  been  ten  times  as  rich  as  Mr.  Woolcomb,  I  should  have  coun- 
selled my  child  to  refuse  him.  /  take  the  responsibility  of  the 
measure  entirely  on  myself — I,  and  her  father,  and  her  brother." 
So  Mrs.  Twysden  afterward  spoke,  in  circles  where  an  absurd 
and  odious  rumor  ran,  that  the  Twysdens  had  forced  their 
daughter  to  jilt  young  Mr.  Firmin  in  order  to  marry  a  wealthy 
quadroon.  People  will  talk,  you  know,  <1e  me,  de  te.  If  Wool- 
comb's  dinners  had  not  gone  off  so  after  his  marriage,  I  have 
little  doubt  the  scandal  would  have  died  away,  and  he  and  his 
wife  might  have  been  pretty  generally  respected  and  visited. 

Nor  must  you  suppose,  as  we  have  said,  that  dear  Agnes  gave 
up  her  first  love  without  a  pang.  That  bronchitis  showed  how 
acutely  the  poor  tiling  felt  her  position.  It  broke  out  very  soon 
after  Mr.  WoolcombVattentions  became  a  little  particular;  and 
she  actually  left  London  in  consequence.  It  is  true  that  he  could 
follow  her  without  difficulty,  but  so,  for  the  matter  of  that,  could 
Philip,  as  we  have  seen,  when  he  came  down  and  behaved  so 
rudely  to  Captain  Woolcomb.  And  before  Philip  came  poor 
Agnes  could  plead,  "  My  father  pressed  me  sair,"  as  in  the  case 
of  the  notorious  Mrs.  llobin  Gray. 

Father  and  mother  both  pressed  her  sair.  Mrs.  Twysden,  I 
think  I  have  mentioned,  wrote  an  admirable  letter,  and  was 
aware  of  her  accomplishment.  She  used  to  write  reams  of  gos- 
sip regularly  every  week  to  dear  uncle  Ring  wood  when  he  was 
in  the  country;  and  when  her  daughter  Blanche  married,  she  is 
said  to  have  written  several  of  her  new  son's  sermons..  As  a 
Christian  mother,  was  she  not  to  give  her  daughter  her  advice 
at  this  momentous  period  of  her  life  V  That. advice  went  against 
poor  Philip's  chances  with  his  cou:-in,  who  was  kept  acquainted 
with  all  the  circumstances  of  the  controversy  of  which  we  have 
just  seen  the  issue.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Mrs.  Twysden 
gave  an  impartial  statement  of  the  ease.  What  parties  in  a 
lawsuit  do  speak  impartially  on  their  own  side  or  their  adver- 
saries? Mrs.  Twysden's  view,  as  I  have  teamed  subsequently, 
and  as  imparted  to  her  daughter,  was  this:  That  most  unprinci- 


150  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

pled  man,  Dr.  Firmin,  who  had  already  attempted,  and  unjustly, 
to  deprive  the  Twysdens  of  a  part  of  their  property,  had  com- 
menced in  quite  early  life  his  career  of  outrage  and  wickedness 
against  the  Ringwood  family.  He  had  led  dear  Lord  Ringwood's 
son,  poor  dear  Lord  Cinqbars,  into  a  career  of  vice  and  extrava- 
gance which  caused  the  premature  death  of  that  unfortunate 
young  nobleman.  Mr.  Firmin  had  then  made  a  marriage,  in 
spite  of  the  tears  and  entreaties  of  Mrs.  Twysden,  with  her  late 
unhappy  sister,  whose  whole  life  had  been  made  wretched  by  the 
doctor's  conduct.  But  the  climax  of  outrage  and  wickedness 
was,  that  when  he — he,  a  low,  penniless  adventurer — married 
Colonel  Ringwood's  daughter  he  was  married  already,  as  could 
be  sworn  by  the  repentant  clergyman  who  had  been  forced,  by 
threats  of  punishment  which  Dr.  Firmin  held  over  him,  to  per- 
form the  rite  !  "  The  mind"' — Mrs.  Talbot  Twysden's  fine  mind 
— "  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  such  wickedness."  But  most 
of  all  (for  to  think  ill  of  any  one  whom  she  had  once  loved  gave 
her  pain)  there  was  reason  to  believe  that  the  unhappy  Philip 
Firmin  was  his  father's  accomplice,  and  that  he  knew  of  his  own 
illegitimacy,  which  he  was  determined  to  set  aside  by  any  fraud 
or  artifice — (she  trembled,  she  wept  to  have  to  say  this :  O 
Heaven  !  that  there  should  be  such  perversity  in  thy  creatures  !) 
And  so  little  store  did  Philip  set  by  his  mother's  honor,  that  he 
actually  visited  the  abandoned  woman  who  acquiesced  in  her 
own  infamy,  and  had  brought  such  unspeakable  disgrace  on  the 
Ringwood  family  !  The  thought  of  this  crime  had  caused  Mrs. 
Twysden  and  her  dear  husband  nights  of  sleepless  anguish — had 
made  them  years  and  years  older — had  stricken  their  hearts  with 
a  grief  which  must  endure  to  the  end  of  their  days.  With  peo- 
ple so  unscrupulous,  go  grasping,  so  artful  as  Dr.  Firmin  and 
(must  she  say  f)  his  son,  they  were  bound  to  be  on  their  guard ; 
and  though  they  had  avoided  Philip,  she  had  deemed  it  right,  on 
the  rare  occasions  when  she  and  the  young  man  whom  she  must 
now  call  her  illegitimate  nephew  met,  to  behave  as  though  she 
knew  nothing  of  this  most  dreadful  controversy. 

"  And  now,  dearest  child" Surely  the  moral  is  obvious? 

The  dearest  child  "  must  see  at  once  that  any  foolish  plans  which 
were  formed  in  childish  days  and  under  former  delusions  must  be 
cast  aside  for  ever  as  impossible,  as  unworthy  of  a  Twysden — of 
a  Ringwood.  Be  not  concerned  for  the  young  man  himself," 
wrote  Mrs.  Twysden — "  I  blush  that  he  should  bear  that  dear 
father's  name  who  was  slain  in  honor  on  Busaco's  glorious  field. 
P.  F.  has  associates  among  whom  he  has  ever  been  much  more 
at  home,  than  in  our  refined  circle,  and  habits  which  will  cause 
him  to  forget  you  only  too  easily.  And  if  near  you  is  one  whose 
ardor  shows  itself  in  his  every  word  and  action,  whose  wealth  and 
property  may  raise  you  to  a  place  worthy  of  my  child,  need  I  say, 
a  mother's,  a  father's  blessing  go  with  you."     This  letter  was 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THIS    WOULD.  15] 

bought  to  Miss  Twysden,  at  Brighton,  by  a  special  messenger- 

J^m^Sl^  ftP"!  hM  had  a  letter  t0  ""'3  eff~«  (I  may  at, 
tents}  Vhi U?  °W  IKCame,,t0  be  a<^ai„ted  with  its  co" 
an&rt  Ph  iin  JaSS  wra  a"  ",e  ?buse  her  brot,'«  lavishes 

best  s  rife  iHs !:  w  srhf h'  ™f',a1t:aoer:„a,ir  r 
w^  »  u„  'J'i, "nsr,y '  a-d  ab?tting  his  iior,-id  ^ 

n,i(!er\-ftvo  nn      I"   l1'r0S3mgSan;*  amI  a11  (^se  points  in 

-  ;•  is",:;;:  tobu?  fr-r"  ,'or1'i,'°'s  ■?* *"»* "  RSiTS 

out  r'pct ,   '  b"f  b8rder  aml  more  l'«miliating still  to  part  with- 
That  papa  and  mamma  had  influenced  Miss  Twysden  in  her  be- 

heart      hh^P  •  ™  aml  ',oured  ont  tbe  flings  of  his 

ueai  t.     M}  wife  is  a  repository  of  men's  aearets,  an  untkliu.  eon 
soler  and  comforter;  and  she  knows  many  a  sa  1  s to  y  w    fh  we 

x  Hiiun,  naa  given  us  possession. 

Penint,dT.ah'' tm1Tk'''-S,0''<U'rSr  £■"*  PWKP<  "Id"e  »*  Mr* 
a,  d      „     L        M     iV'Si  Wa,9  father  lo  the  th°"*ht  "f  P«u-«u«, 
e      r  ool-tc  ~     la,cka?n00r?  Parira  '•""' aCTM  *»<  *e  girl  jilt," 
n  ,  tl,,f°  r       ,    •  I tokl  >"ou-  ust  now  >"at  I  slew  perfectly  well 
on  that  mfcroa!  n,ght  after  J  had  said  farewell  to  £r.      AVcM   I 

leu  "th  of  Lew  r        rWalk<'d  ?,ver  so  man-v  *■«•  «.e  wl  1      .' 
•en     tr,  h,  i    ft'       ',"  IIove  to  Rottii'^'lcnn  almost,  and  then 

Ana  a3  l  *  ,ls  pasnugty  Horizoatal  Terrace— I  happened  to  pas, 

-- von  k™w',!ll,V°  *in,"S  ll;   "•"-•  "">0,lli"bt.  Bk."  pea,  jaT 

'  When  .1,,  look,  of  burnished  gold,  lady,  shall  to  silver  ,un, !' 

mZ^^T:-   •'ou  V10W  u,c  T*™  »''<><"  «««»»  -a 

oi.i  ag«  .   .She  w„s  singing  the n  that  night,  to  thai  negro, 


152  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

And  I  heard  the  beggar's  voice  say,  '  Bravo  !'  through  the  open 
windows." 

"  Ab,  Philip  !  it  was  cruel,"  says  my  wife,  heartily  pitying  our 
friend's  anguish  and  misfortune.  "  It  was  cruel  indeed.  I  am 
sure  we  can  feel  for  you.  But  think  what  certain  misery  a  mar- 
riage with  such  a  person  would  have  been  !  Think  of  your  warm 
heart  given  away  for  ever  to  that  heartless  creature." 

"  Laura,  Laura,  have  you  not  often  warned  me  not  to  speak 
ill  of  people  ?"  says  Laura's  husband. 

"  I  can't  help  it  sometimes,"  cries  Laura,  in  a  transport.  "  I 
try  and  do  my  best  not  to  speak  ill  of  my  neighbors  ;  but  the 
wurldliness  of  those  people  shocks  me  so  that  I  can't  bear  to  be 
near  them.  They  are  so  utterly  tied  and  bound  by  convention- 
alities, so  perfectly  convinced  of  their  own  excessive  high-breed- 
ing, that  they  seem  to  me  more  odious  and  more  vulgar  than 
quite  low  people  ;  and  I  am  sure  Mr.  Philip's  friend,  the  Little 
Sister,  is  infinitely  more  lady-like  than  his  dreary  aunt  or  either 
of  his  supercilious  cousins  !"  Upon  my  word,  when  this  lady  did 
speak  her  mind,  there  was  no  mistaking  her  meaning. 

I  believe  Mr.  Firmin  took  a  considerable  number  of  people  into 
his  confidence  regarding  this  love  affair.  He  is  one  of  those  in- 
dividuals who  can't  keep  their  secrets ;  and  when  hurt  he  roars 
so  loudly  that  all  his  friends  can  hear.  It  has  been  remarked 
that  the  sorrows  of  such  persons  do  not  endure  very  long  ;  nor 
surely  was  there  any  great  need  in  this  instance  that  Philip's 
heart  should  wear  a  lenghtened  mourning.  Ere  lon£  he  smoked 
his  pipes,  he  played  his  billiards,  he  shouted  his  songs ;  he  rode 
in  the  park  for  the  pleasure  of  severely  cutting  his  aunt  and 
cousins  when  their  open  carriage  passed,  or  of  riding  down  Cap- 
tain Woolcomb  or  his  cousin  Ringwood,  should  either  of  those 
worthies  come  in  his  way. 

One  day,  when  the  old  Lord  Ringwood  came  to  town  for  his 
accustomed  spring  visit,  Philip  condescended  to  wait  upon  him, 
and  was  announced  to  his  lordship  just  as  Talbot  Twysden  and 
Ringwood  his  son  were  taking  leave  of  their  noble  kinsman. 
Philip  looked  at  them  with  a  flashing  eye  and  a  distended  nostril, 
according  to  his  swaggering  wont.  I  dare  say  they  on  their  part 
bore  a  very  mean  and  hang-dog  appearance  ;  for  my  lord  laughed 
at  their  discomfiture,  and  seemed  immensely  amused  as  they  slunk 
out  of  the  door  when  Philip  came  hectoring  in. 

"  So,  sir,  there  has  been  a  family  row.  Heard  all  about  it :  at 
least  their  side.  Your  father  did  me  the  favor  to  marry  my  niece, 
having  another  wife  already  V" 

"  Having  no  other  wife  already,  sir — though  my  dear  relations 
were  anxious-to  show  that  he  had." 

"  Wanted  your  money ;  thirty  thousand  pounds  is  not  a  trifle. 
Ten  thousand  apiece  for  those  children.  And  no  more  need  of 
any  confounded  pinching*  and  scraping,  as  they  have  to  do  at 


ON    HIS   WAY    THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  153 

Beaunash  street.     Affair  off  between  you  and  Agnes  ?    Absurd 
aifair.     So  much  the  better." 

"  Yes,  sir,  so  much  the  bettor." 

"  Have  ten  tliousand  apiece.     Would  have  twenty  thousand  if 
they  got  yours.     Quite  natural  to  want  it." 

'l  Quite." 

41  Woolcomb  a  sort  of  negro,  I  understand.  Fine  property 
here,  besides  the  West  India  rubbish.  Violent  man — so  people 
tell  me.  Luckily  Agnes  seems  a  cool,  easy-going  woman,  and 
must  put  up  with  the  rough  as  well  as  the  smooth  in  marryin-*  a 
property  like  that.  Very  lucky  for  you  that  that  woman  persfsts 
there  was  no  marriage  with  your  father.  Twysden  says  the  doc- 
tor bribed  her.  Take  it  he  's  not  got  much  money  to  bribe,  un- 
less you  gave  some  of  yours." 

"I  don't  bribe  people  to  bear  false  witness,  my  lord — and 
if—" 

44  Don't  be  in  a  huff;  I  did  n't  say  so.  Twysden  says  so — per- 
haps thinks  so.  When  people  are  at  law  they  believe  anything 
of  one  another." 

°  I  don't  know  what  other  people  may  do,  sir.  If  I  had  an- 
other man's  money,  I  should  not  be  easy  until  I  had  paid  him 
back.  Had  my  share  of  my  grandfather's  property  not  been  law- 
fully mine — and  for  a  few  hours  I  thought  it  was  not — please  God 
I  would  have  given  it  up  to  its  rightful  owners — at  least  my 
father  would." 

'-'  Why,  hang  it  all,  man,  you  don't  mean  to  say  your  father 
has  not  settled  with  you  ?" 

Philip  blushed  a  little.  He  had  been  rather  surprised  that 
there  had  been  no  settlement  between  him  and  his  father. 

"  I  am  only  of  age  a  few  months,  sir.  I  am  not  under  any  ap- 
prehension. I  get  my  dividends  regularly  enough.  One  of  my 
grandfather's  trustees,  General  Baynes,  is  in  India.  He  is  to  re- 
turn almost  immediately,  or  we  should  have  sent  a  power  of  at- 
torney out  to  him.     There  's  no  hurry  about  the  business." 

Philip's  maternal  grandfather,  and  Lord  Ringwood's  brother, 
the  late  Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  had  died  possessed  of  but  tri- 
fling property  of  histown  ;  but  his  wife  had  brought  him  a  fortune 
of  sixty  thousand  pounds,  which  was  settled  on  their  children, 
and  in  the  names  of  trustees — Mr.  Briggs,  a  lawyer,  and  Colonel 
Baynes,  an  East  India  officer,  and  friend  of  Mrs.  Philip  Ring- 
wood's  family.  Colonel  Baynes  had  been  in  England  some  eight 
years  before;  and  Philip  remembered  a  kind  old  gentleman  com- 
ing to  see  him  at  school,  and  leaving  tokens  of  his  bounty  behind* 
The  other  trustee,  Mr.  Briggs,  a  lawyer  of  considerable  county 
reputation,  was  dead  long  since,  having  left  his  affairs  in  an  in- 
volved condition.  During  the  trustee's  absence  and  the  son's 
minority  Philip's  father  received  the  dividends  on  his  sou's  prop- 
erty, and  liberallv  spent  .them  on  the  boy.  Indeed,  I  believe 
14 


154  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

that  for  some  little  time  at  college,  and  during  his  first  journeys 
abroad,  Mr.  Philip  spent  rather  more  than  the  income  of  his  ma- 
ternal inheritance,  being  freely  supplied  by  his  father,  who  told 
him  not  to  stint  himself.  He  was  a  sumptuous  man,  Dr.  Firinin 
— open-handed — subseribingto  many  charities — a  lover  of  solemn 
good  cheer.  The  doctor's  dinners  and  the  doctor's  equipages 
were  models  in  their  way  ;  and  1  remember  the  sincere  respect 
with  which  my  uncle  the  major  (the  family  guide  in  such  mat- 
ters) used  to  speak  of  Dr.  Firmin's  taste.  "  No  duchess  in  Lon- 
don, sir,"  he  would  say,  "  drove  better  horses  than  Mrs.  Firmin. 
Sir  George  Warrender,  sir,  could  not- give  a  better  dinner,  sir, 
than  that  to  which  we  sat  down  yesterday."  And  for  the  exer- 
cise of  these  civic  virtues  the  doctor  had  the  hearty  respect  of  the 
good  major. 

"  Don't  tell  me,  sir,"  on  the  other  hand,  Lord  Ringwood  would 
say;  "  I  dined  with  the  fellow  once — a  swaggering  fellow,  sir; 
but  a  servile  fellow.  The  way  he  bowed  and  flattered  was  per- 
fectly absurd.  Thc*se  fellows  think  we  like  it — and  we  may. 
Even  at  my  age,  I  like  flattery — any  quantity  of  it;  and  not 
what  you  call  delicate,  but  strong,  sir.  I  like  a  man  to  kneel 
down  and  kiss  my  shoe-strings.  1  have  my  own  opinion  of  him 
afterward,  but  that  is  what  1  like — what  all  men  like ;  and  that 
is  what  Firmin  gave  in  quantities.  But  you  could  see  that  his 
house  was  monstrously  expensive.  His  dinner  was  excellent, 
and  you  saw  it  was  good  every  day — not  like  your  dinners,  my 
food  Maria ;  not  like  your  wines,  Twysden,  which,  hang  it,  I 
can't  swallow,  unless  I  send 'em  in  myself.  Even  at  my  own 
house,  I  don't  give  that  kind  of  wine  on  common  occasions  which 
Firmin  used  to  give.  I  drink  the  best  myself,  of  course,  and 
give  it  to  some  who  know  ;  but  I  don't  give  it  to  common  fellows, 
who  come  to  hunting  dinners,  or  to  girls  and  boys  who  are  dan- 
cing at  my  balls." 

"  Yes ;  Mr.  Firmin's  dinners  were  very  handsome — and  a  pretty 
end  came  of  the  handsome  dinners!"  sighed  Mrs.  Twysden. 

"  That 's  not  the  question  ;  I  am  only  speaking  about  the  fel- 
low's meat  and  drink,  and  they  were  both  good.  And  it 's  my 
opinion  that  fellow  will  have  a  good  dinner  wherever  he  goes." 

1  had  the  fortune  to  be  present  at  one  of  these  feasts,  which 
Lord  Ringwood  attended,  and  at  which  I  met  Philip's  trustee, 
General  Baynes,  who  had  just  arrived  from  India.  1  remember 
now  the  smallest  details  of  the  little  dinner — the  brightness  of 
the  old  plate,  on  which  the  doctor  prided  himself,  and  the  quiet 
comfort,  not  to  say  splendor,  of  the  entertainment.  The  general 
seemed  to  take  a  great  liking  to  Philip,  whose  grandfather  had 
been  his  special  friend  and  comrade  in  aims.  He  thought  he 
saw  something  of  Philip  Ringwood  in  Philip  Firmin's  face. 

"  Ah,  indeed !"  growls  Lord  Ringwood. 

"  You  ain't  a  bit  like  him,"  says  the  downright  general.  "Never 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  155 

saw  a  handsomer  or  more  open-looking  fellow  than  Philip  tling- 
wood." 

"  Oh  !  I  dare  say  I  looked  pretty  open  myself  for^y  years  ago," 
said  my  lord ;  "  now  I  'm  shut,  I  suppose.  I  don't  see  the  least 
likeness  in  this  young  man  to  my  brother." 

.!*  That  is  some  sherry  as  old  as  the  century,"  whispers  the  host ; 
"it  is  the  same  the  Prince  Regent  liked  so  at  the  Mansion  House 
dinner,  five-and-twentv  years  ago.'"  * 

"Never  knew  anything  about  wine;  was  always  tippling 
liqueurs  and  punch.      What  do  you  give  for  this  sherry,  doctor  ?" 

The  doctor  sighed,  and  looked  up  to  the  chandelier.  "Drink 
it  while  it  lasts,  my  good  lord ;  but  don't  ask  me  the  price.  The 
fact  is,  I  don't   like  to  say  what  I  gave  for  it." 

"  You  need  not  stint  yourself  in  the  price  of  sherry,  doctor," 
cries  tlie  general,  gayly  :  "you  have  but  one  son,  and  he  has  a 
fortune  of  his  own,  as  J  happen  to  know.  You  have  n't  dipped 
it,  master  Philip '?" 

"I  fear,  sir,  I  may  have  .exceeded  my  income  sometimes,  in  the 
last  three  years ;  but  my  father  has  helped  me." 

"  Exceeded  nine  hundred  a  year !  Upon  my  word  1  When  I 
was  a  sub  my  friends  gave  me  fifty  pounds  a  year,  and  I  never 
was  a  shilling  in  debt !     What  are  men  coming  to  now  ?" 

4-  If  doctors  drink  Prince  Regent's  sherry  at  ten  guineas  a 
dozen,  what  can  you  expect  of  their  sons,  General  Baynes?" 
grumbles  my  lord. 

"  My  father  gives  you  his  best,  my  lord,"  says  Philip,  gayly  ; 
"  if  you  know  of  any  better,  he  will  get  it  for  you.  Si  non  his 
utere  mecum  !     Please  to  pass  me  that  decanter,  Pen  !" 

I  thought  the  old  lord  did  not  seem  ill  pleased  at  the  young 
man's  freedom ;  and  now,  as  I  recall  it,  think  I  can  remember 
that  a  peculiar  silence  and  anxiety  seemed  to  weigh  upon  our 
ho:>t — upon  him  whose  face  was  commonly  so  anxious  aud  sad. 

The  famous  sherry,  which  had  made  many  voyages  to  Indian 
climes  before  it  acquired  its  exquisite  flavor,  had  travelled  some 
three  or  four  times  round  the  doctor's  polished  table,  when  Brice, 
his  man,  entered  with  a  letter  on  his  silver  tray.  Perhaps  Phil- 
ip's eyes  and  mine  exchanged  glances  in  which  ever  so  small  a 
scintilla  of  lUi^hief  might  sparkle.  The  doctor  often  had  letters 
when  he  was  entertaining  his  friends;  and  his  patients  had  a 
knack  of  falling  ill  at  awkward  times. 

"  Gracious  Heavens  !"  cries  the  doctor,  when  he  read  the  dis- 
patch— it  was  a  telegraphic  message.     "  The  poor  Grand  Duke  !" 

"  What  Grand  Duke  V  asks  the  surly  lord  of  Ringwood. 

"  My  earliest  patron  and  friend — the  Grand  Duke  of  Gronin- 
gen  !  Seized  this  morning  at  eleven  at  Potzendorff!  Has  sent 
for  me.  I  promised  to  go  to  him  if  ever  he  had  need  of  me.  I 
must  go  !  I  can  save  the  night-train  yet.  General !  our  visit  to 
the  city  must  be  deferred  till  my  return.     Get  a  portmanteau, 


166  THE   ADVENTURES    OP   PHILIP 

Brice ;  and  call  a  cab  at  once.  Philip  will  entertain  my  friends 
for  the  evening.  My  dear  lord,  you  won't  mind  an  old  doctor 
leaving  you  to  attend  an  old  patient  ?  I  will  write  from  Grbnin- 
gen.  I  shall  be  there  on  Friday  morning.  Farewell,  gentle- 
men !  Brice,  another  bottle  of  that  sherry  !  I  pray,  don't  let 
anybody  stir !  God  bless  you,  Philip,  my  boy  I"  Arfd  with  this 
the  doctor  went  up,  took  his  son  by  the  hand,  and  laid  the  other 
very  kindly  on  the  young  man's  shoulder.  Then  he  made  a  bow 
round  the  table  to  his  guests — one  of  his  graceful  bows,  for 
which  he  was  famous.  I  can  see  the  sad  smile  on  his  face  now, 
and  the  light  from  the  chandelier  over  the  dining-table  glancing 
from  his  shining  forehead,  and  casting  deep  shadows  on  to  bis 
cheek  from  his  heavy  brows. 

The  departure  was  a  little  abrupt,  and  of  course  cast  some- 
what of  a  gloom  upon  the  company. 

"  My  carriage  ain't  ordered  till  ten — must  go  on  sitting  here, 
I  suppose.  Confounded  life  doctors'  must  be  !  Called  up  any 
hour  in  the  night !  Get  their  fees !  Must  go  !"  growled  the  great 
man  of  the  party. 

"People  are  glad  enough  to  have  them  when  they  are  ill,  my 
lord.  I  think  I  have  heard  that  once,  when  you  were  at  Ryde — " 

The  great  man  started  back  as  if  a  little  shock  of  cold  water 
had  fallen  on  him ;  and  then  looked  at  Philip  with  not  unfriendly 
glances.  "  Treated  for  gout — so  he  did.  Very  well,  too  !:'  said 
my  lord  ;  and  whispered,,  not  i.naudily,  "  Cool  hand,  that  boy  !" 
And  then  his  lordship  fell  to  talk  with  General  Baynes  about  his 
campaigning,  and  his  early  acquaintance  with  his  own  brother, 
Philip's  grandfather. 

The  general  did  not  care  to  brag  about  his  own  feats  of  arms, 
but  was  loud  in  praises  of  his  old  comrade.  Philip  was  pleased 
to  hear  his  grandsire  so  well  spoken  of.  The  general  had  known 
Dr.  Firmin's  father  also,  who  likewise  had  been  a  colonel  in  the 
famous  old  Peninsular  army.  "  A  Tartar  that  fellow  was,  and 
no  mistake  !"  said  the  good  officer,  "  Your  father  has  a  strong 
look  of  him ;  and  you  have  a  glance  of  him  at  times.  But  you 
remind  me  of  Philip  Ringwood  not  a  little ;  and  you  could  not 
belong  to  a  better  man." 

"  Ha  j"  says  my  lord.  There  had  been  differences  between 
•«.  him  and  his  brother.     He  may  have  been  thinking  of  days  when 

ikey.  were  friends.  Lord  Ringwood  now  graciously  asked  if 
General  Baynes  was  staying  in  London  ?  But  the  general  had 
only  come  to  do  this  piece  of  business,  which  must  now  be  de- 
layed. He  was  too  poor  to  live  in  London.  He  must  look  out 
for  a  country  place,  where  he  and  his  six  children  could  live 
cheaply!  "  Three  boys  at  school,  and  one  at  college,  Mr.  Philip — 
you  know  what  that  must  cost ;  though,  thank  my  stars,  my  col- 
lege boy  does  not  spend  nine  hundred  a  year.  Nine  hundred  I 
Where  should  we  be  if  he  did  ?"  '  In  fact,  the  days  of  nabobs 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  157 

are  long  over,  and  the  general  had  come  back  to  his  native  country 
with  only  very  small  means  for  the  support  of  a  great  family. 

When  my  lord's  carriage  came  he  departed,  and  the  other 
guests  presently  took  their  leave.  The  general,  who  was  a 
bachelor  for  the  nonce,  remained  a  while,  and  we  three  prattled 
over  cheroots  in  Philip's  smoking-room.  It  was  a  night  like  a 
hundred  I  have  spent  there,  and  yet  how  well  I  remember  it ! 
We  talked  about  Philip's  future  prospects,  and  he  communicated 
his  intentions  to  us  in  his  lordly  way.  As  for  practicing  at  the 
bar  :  "  No,  sir  ! '  he  said,  in  reply  to  General  Baynes'  queries,  he 
should  not  make  much  hand  of  that :  should  n't  if  he  were  ever 
so  poor.  He  had  his  own  money,  and  his  father's,  and  he  con- 
descended to  say  that  he  might,  perhaps,  try  for  Parliament 
should  an  eligible  opportunity  oirer.  "  Here  's  a  fellow  born  with 
a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth,"  says  the  general,  as  we  walked  away 
together.  "A  fortune  to  begin  with;  a  fortune  to  inherit.  My 
fortune  was  two  thousand  pounds  and  the  price  of  my  two  first 
commissions;  and  when  I- die  my  children  will  not  be  quite  so 
well  off  as  their  father  was  when  he  began  !" 

Having  parted  with  the  old  officer  at  his  modest  sleeping 
quarters  near  his  club,  I  walked  to  my  own  home,  little  thinking 
that  yonder  cigar,  off  which  I  had  shaken  some  of  the  ashes  in 
Philip's  smoking-room,  was  to  be  the  last  tobacco  I  ever  should 
smoke  there.  The  pipe  was  smoked  out.  The  wine  was  drunk. 
When  that  door  closed  on  me,  it  closed  for  the  last  time — at  least 
was  never  more  to  admit  me  as  Philip's,  as  Dr.  Firmin's,  guest 
and  friend.  I  pass  the  place  often  now.  My  youth  comes  back 
to  me  as  I  gaze  at  those  blank,  shining  windows.  I  see  myself  a 
boy,  and  Philip  a  child  ;  and  his  fair  mother;  and  his  father,  the 
hospitable,  the  melancholy,  the  magnificent.  I  wish  I  could  have 
helped  him.  I  wish  somehow  he  had  borrowed  money.  He  never 
did.  He  gave  me  his  often.  I  have  never  seen  him  since  that 
night  when  his  own  door  closed  upon  him. 

On  the  -second  day  after  the  doctor's  departure,  as  I  was  at 
breakfast  witji  my  family,  I  received  the  following  letter : 

My  dear  Pendennis  :  Could  I  have  seen  you  in  private  on  Tuesday 
night,  I  might  have  warned  you  of  the  calamity  which  was  hanging 
over  my  house.  But  to  what  good  end  ?  That  you  should  know  a  few 
weeks,  hours,  before  what  all  the  world  will  ring  with  to-morrow? 
Neither  you  nor  I,  nor  one  whom  wo  both  love,  would  have  been  the 
happier  for  knowing  my  misfortunes  a  few  hours  sooner.  In  four-and- 
tw<  nty  hours  every  club  in  London  will  be  bttsy  with  talk  of  the  de- 
parture of  the  celebrated  Dr.  Firniin— the  wealthy  Dr.  Firmin  ;  a  few 
months  more  and  (I  have  strict  and  confidential  reason  to  believe) 
hereditary  rank  would  have  been  mine;  but  Sir  George  Firmin  would 
have  been  an  insolveut  man,  and  his  son  Sir  Philip  a  beggar.  .Perhaps 
the  thought  of  this  honor  has  been  one  of  the  reasons  which  has  deter- 
mined me  on  expatriating  myself  sooner  than  I  otherwise  needed  to 
have  done. 


158  THE    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

ire  Firmin,  the  honored,  the  wealthy  physician,  and  hip  son  a 
beggar?  I  see  you  are  startled  at  the  news  !  .  You  wonder  how,  with  a 
great  practice,  and  no  great  ostensible  expenses,  such  ruin  should  have 
come  upon  me — upon  him.  It  has  seemed  as  if  for  years  past  Fate  has 
been  determined  to  make  war  upon  G-eorge  Brand  Firmin  ;  and  who  can 
battle  against  Fate  ?  A  man  universally  admitted  to  be  of  good  judg- 
ment, I  have  embarked  in  mercantile  speculations  the  most  promising. 
Everything  upon  which  I  laid  my  hand  has  crumbled  to  ruin;  but  I 
can  say  with  the  Roman  bard,  *'  Impavidum  ferient  ruinse."  And,  al- 
most penniless,  almost  aged,  an  exile  driven  from  my  country,  I  seek 
another  where  I  do  not  despair — I  even  have  a  firm  belief  that  I  shall 
be  enabled  to  repair  my  shattered  fortunes!  My  race  has  never  been 
deficient  in  courage,  and  Philip  and  Philip's  father  must  use  all  theirs, 
so  as  to  be  enabled  to  face  the  dark  times  which  menace  them.  Si 
celeres  quatit  pennas  Fortuna,  we  must  resign  what  she  gave  us,  and 
bear  our  calamity  with  unshaken  hearts  ! 

There' is  a  man,  I  own  to  you,  whom  I  can  not,  I  must  not  face. 
General  Baynes  has  just  come  from  India,  with  but  very  small  savings, 
I  fear  :  and  these  are  jeopardized  by  his  imprudence  and  my  most  cruel 
and  unexpected  misfortune.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  my  all  would  have 
been  my  boy's.  My  will,  made  long  since,  will  be  found  in  the  tortoise- 
shell  secretaire  standing  in  my  consulting-room  under  the  picture  of 
Abraham  offering  up  Isaac.  In  it  you  will  see  that  everything,  except 
annuities  to  old  and  deserving  servants  and  a  legacy  to  one  excellent 
and  faithful  woman  whom  I  own  I  have  wronged — my  all,  which  once 
was  considerable,  in  left  to  my  boy. 

T  am  now  worth  less  than  nothing,  aud  have  compromised  Philip's 
property  along  with  my  own.  As  a  man  of  business,  General  Baynes, 
Colonel  Ringwood's  old  companion  in  arms,  was  culpably  careless, 
and  I — alas!  that  I  must  own  it — deceived  him.  Being  the  only  sur- 
viving trustee  (Mrs.  Philip  Ringwood's  other  trustee  was  an  unprin- 
cipled attorney  who  has  been  long  dead),  General  B.  signed  a  paper, 
authorizing,  as  he  imagined,  my  bankers  to  receive  Philip's  dividends, 
but  in  fact  giving  me  the  power  to  dispose  of  the  capital  sum.  On  my 
honor  as  a  man,  as  a  "gentleman,  as  a  father,  Pendennis,  I  hoped  to 
replace  it.  I  took  it;  I  embarked  it  in  speculations  in  which  it  sank 
down  with  ten  times  the  amount  of  my  own  private  property.  Half- 
year  after  half-year,  with  straitened  means  and  with  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty to  myself,  my  poor  boy  has  had  his  dividend  ;  and  he  at  least  has 
never  known  what  was  want  or  anxiety  until  now.  Want?  Anxie- 
ty? Pray  Heaven  he  may  never  sudor  the  sleepless  anguish,  the 
racking  care  which  has  pursued  me  !  "  Post  equitem  sedet  atra  cwira," 
our  favorite  poet  says.  Ah  !  how  truly,  too,  does  he  remark,  "Pat-rise 
quia  exul  se  quoque  fugit. .?"  Think  you  where  I  go  grief  and  remorse 
will  not  follow  me?  They  will  never  leave  me  until  I  shall  return  to 
this  country — for  that  I  shall  return,  my  heart  tells  me — until  I  can 
reimburse  General  Baynes,  who  stands  indebted  to  Philip  through  his 
incautiousness  and  my  overpowering  necessity;  and  my  heart — an 
erring  but  fond  father's  heart — tells  me  that  my  boy  will  not  eventually 
lose  a  penny  by  my  misfortune. 

I  own,  between  ourselves,  that  this  illness  of  the  Grand  Duke  of 
Groningen  was  a  pretext  which  I  put  forward.  You  will  hear  of  me 
ere  long  from  the  place  whither  for  some  timepast  I  have  determined 
on  bending  my  steps.  I  placed  £100  on  Saturday  to  Philip's  credit, 
.at  his  banker's.  I  take  little  more  than  that  sum  with  me  ;  depressed, 
yet  full  of  hope  ;  having  done  wrong,  yet  determined  to  retrieve  it,  and 


%  ON    HTS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.     „  15i> 

r/npmjf  that  ere  I  die  my  poor  hoy  shall  not  have  to  blush  at  beating 
the  name  of  Oeorgk  iRrand  Firmin. 

Good-by,  dear  riu'lip!  Your  old  friend  will  tell  yon  of  my  misfort- 
unes. When  I  wrile  again,  it  will  be  to  tell  you  where  to  address 
me ;  and  wherever  \  am,  or  whatever  misfortunes  oppress  me,  till  nit 
of  me  always  as  your  fon.d  Father. 

I  had  scarce,  road- this  awful  letter  when  Philip  Firmin  himself 
came  into  our  breakfast-room  looking  very  much  disturbed. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

SAMARITANS. 

The  children  trotted  up  to  their  friend  with  outstretched  hands 
and  their  usual  smiles  of  welcome.  Philip  patted  their  heads, 
and  sate  down  with  very  woebegone  aspect  at  the  family  table. 
"Ah,  friends,"  said  he,  u  do  you  know  all  ?" 

"  Yes,  we  do,"  said  Laura,  sadly,  who  has  ever  compassion  for 
others'  misfortunes. 

"  What!  is  it  all  over  the  town  already?"  asked  poor  Philip. 

"  We  have  a  letter  from  your  father  this  morning."  And  we 
brought  the  letter  to  him,  and  showed  him  the  affectionate  special 
message  for  himself. 

u  His  last  thought  was  for  you,  Philip  !"  cries  Laura.  "  See 
here,  those  last  kind  words!" 

Philip  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  not  untrue,  what  is  written 
here:  but  it  is  not  all  the  truth."  And  Philip  Firmin  dismayed 
us  by  the  intelligence  which  he  proceeded  to  give.  There  was 
an  execution  in  the  house  in  Old  Parr  street.  A  hundred  clam 
orous  creditors  had  already  appeared  there.  Before  going  away, 
the  doctor  had  taken  considerable  sums  from  those  danijerou  i 
financiers  to  whom  he  had  been  of  late  resorting.  They  were  'n 
possession  of  numberless  lately-signed  bills,  upon  which  the  des- 
perate man  had  raised  money.  He  had  professed  to  share  with 
Philip,  but  he  had  taken  the  great  share,  and  left  Philip  two 
hundred  pounds  of  bis  own  money.  All  the  rest  was  gone.  All 
Philip's  stock  had  been  sold  out.  The  father's  fraud  had  made 
him  master  of  the  trustee's  signature:  and  Philip  Firmin,  reputed 
to  bo  so  wealthy,  was  a  beggar,  in  my  room.  Luckily  he  had 
few,  or  very  trilling,  debts.  Mr.  Philip  had  a  lordly  impatience 
of  indebtedness,  and,  with  a  good  bachelor-income,  had  paid  for 
all  his  pleasures  as  he  enjoyed  them. 

Well!  He  must  work.  A  young  man  ruined  at  two-aud- 
tvveuty.  with  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds  yet  in  his  pocket,  hard- 
ly knows  that  he  is  ruined.  II ••  will  Bell  his  horses — live  in 
chambers — has  enough  to  go  on  for  a  year.     "  When  I  am  very 


160  -  THE    ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 


bard  put  to  it,"  says  Philip,  "  J  will  come  and  dine  with  the  ( 
dren  at  one.     I  dare  say  vou  have  n't  dined  much  at  Willi? 


chil- 
ly you  Have  n't  timed  much  at  Williams' 
in  the  Old  Bailey  ?  You  can  get  a  famous  dinner  there  for  a 
shilling — beef,  bread,  potatoes,  beer,  and  a  penny  for  the  waiter." 
Yes,  Philip  seemed  actually  to.  enjoy  his  discomfiture.  It  was 
long  since  we  had  seen  him  in  such  spirits.  "  The  weight  is  off 
my  mind  now.  It  has  been  throttling  me  for  some  time  past. 
Without  understanding  why  or  wherefore,  I  have  always  been 
looking  out  for  this.  My  poor  father  had  ruin  written  in  his 
face  :  and  when  those  bailiff's  made  their  appearance  in  Old  Parr 
street  yesterday,  I  felt  as  if  I  had.  known  them  before.  *I  had 
seen  their  hooked  beaks  in  my  dreams." 

"  That  unlucky  General  Baynes,  when  he  accepted  your 
mother's  trust,  took  it  with  its  consequences.  If  the  sentry  falls 
asleep  on  his  post,- he  must  pay  the  penalty,"  says  Mr.  Pendem* 
nis,  very  severely. 

"  Great  powers  !  you  would  not  have  me  come  down  on  an  old 
man  with  a  large  family,  and  ruin  them  all  ?"  cries  Philip. 

"  No;  I  don't  think  Philip  will  do  that,"  says  my  wife,  looking 
exceedingly  pleased. 

"If  men  accept  trusts  they  must  fulfil  them,  my  dear,"  cries 
the  master  of  the  house. 

"And  I  must  make  that  old  gentleman  suffer  for  my  father's 
wrong?     If  I  do,  may  I  starve!  there!"  cries  Philip. 

"And  so  that  poor  Little  Sister  has  made  her  sacrifice  in  vain !" 
sighed  my  wife.  "As  for  the  father — oh,  Arthur  !  I  can't  tell 
you  how  odious  that  man  was  to  me.  There  was  something 
dreadful  about  him.     And  in  his  manner  to  women — oh — " 

"  If  he  had  been  a  black  draught,  my  dear,  you  could  not  have 
shuddered  more  naturally." 

"  Well,  he  was  horrible ;  and  I  know  Philip  will  be  better  now 
he  is  gone." 

Women  often  make  light  of  ruin.  Give  them  but  the.  beloved 
objects,  and  poverty  is  a  trifling  sorrow  to  bear.  As  for  Philip, 
he,  as  we  have  said,  is  gayer  than  he  has  been  for  years  past. 
The  doctor's  flight  occasions  not  a  little  club  talk ;  but,  now  he 
is  gone,  many  people  see  quite  well  that  they  were  aware  of  his 
insolvency,  and  always  knew  it  must' end  so.  The  case  is  told, 
is  canvassed,  is  exaggerated  as  such  cases  will  be.  I  dare  say  it 
forms  a  week's  talk.  But  people  know  that  poor  Philip  is  his 
father's  largest  creditor,  and  eye  the  young  man  with  no  unfriend- 
ly looks  when  he  comes  to  his  club  alter  his  mishap — with  burn- 
ing cheeks,  and  a  tingling  sense  of  shame,  imagining  that  all  the 
world  will  point  at  and  avoid  him  as  the  guilty  fugitive's  son. 

No:  the.  world  takes  very  little  heed  of  his  mislbrtune.  One 
or  two  old  acquaintances  are  kinder  to  him  than  before.  .  A  few 
say  his  ruin,  and  his  obligation  to  work,  will  do  him  good.  Only 
a  very,  very  lew  avoid  him,  and  look  unconscious  as  he  passes 


PI:    e 


J  !  . 


■ix'il  ■       ; 


-  • 


PHILIPS       COMFORTERS 


ON    HIB    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  161 

them  by.  Among  those  cold  countenances,  you,  of  coutsc,  will 
recognize  tlie  faces  of  the  whole  Twysden  family.  Three  statues, 
with  marble  eyes,  could  not  look  more  stony-calm  than  aunt 
Tw-ysden  and  her  two  daughters,  as  they  pass  in  the  stately  ba- 
rouche. The.  gentlemen  turn  red  when  they  see  Philip.  It  is 
rather  late  times  lor  uncle  Twysden  to  begin  blushing,  to  be 
sure.  "  Hang  the  fellow!  he  will,  of  course,  be  .coming  for 
money.  Dawkins,  I  am  not  at  home,  mind,  when  young  Mr. 
Firmin  calls."  So  says  Lord  Bingwood,  regarding  Philip  fallen 
among  thieves.  Ah,  thanks  to  Heaven,  travellers  find  Samari- 
tans as  well  as  Levites  on  life's  hard  way!  Philip  told  us  with 
much  humor  of  a  rencontre  which  he  had  had  with  his  cousin, 
Ilingwood  Twysden,  in  a  public  place.  Twysden  was  enjoying 
himself  with  some  young  clerks  of  his  office;  but  as  Philip  ad- 
vanced upon  him,  assuming  his  fiercest  scowl  and  most  hectoring 
manner,  the  other  lost  heart,  and  fled.  And  no  wonder.  "Do 
you  suppose,"  says  Twysden,  "Twill  willingly  sit  in  the  same 
room  with  that  cad,  after  the  manner  in  which  he  has  treated  my 
family  !  No,  sir  !"  And  so  the  tall  door  in  Beaunash  street  is  to 
open  for  Philip  Firmin  no  more. 

The  tall  door  in  Beaunash  street  flies  open  readily  enough  for 
another  gentleman.  A  splendid  cab-horse  reins  up  before  it 
every  day.  A  pair  of  varnished  boots  leap  out  of  the  cab,  and 
spring  up  the  broad  stairs,  where  somebody  is  waiting  with  a 
smile  of  genteel  welcome — the  same  smile— on  the  same  sofa — 
the  same  mamma  at  her  table  writing  her  letters.  And  beauti- 
ful "bouquets  from  Covent  Garden  decorate  the  room.  And  after 
half  an  hour  mamma  goes  out  to  speak  to  the  housekeeper,  vous 
comprenez.  And  there  is  nothing  particularly,  new  under  the 
sun.  It  will  shine  to-morrow  upon  pretty  much  the  same  flow- 
ers, sports,  pastimes,  etc.,  which  it  illuminated  yesterday.  .  And 
when  your  love-making  days  are  over,  miss,  and  you  are  mar- 
ried and  advantageously  established,  shall  not  your  little  sisters, 
now  in  the  nursery,  trot  down  and  play  their  little  games? 
AYould  you,  on  your  conscience,  now — you  who  are  rather  in- 
clined to  consider  Miss  Agnes  Twysden 's  conduct  as  heartless — 
would  you,  I  say,  have  her  cry  her  pretty  eyes  out  about  a  young 
man  who  does  not  care  much  for  her,  for  whom  she  never  did 
care  much  herself,  and  who  is  now,*  moreover,  a  beggar,  with  a 
ruined  and  disgraced  father  and  a  doubtful  legitimacy  V  Absurd ! 
That  dear  gijl  is  like  a  beautiful  fragrant  bower-room  at.  the.  Star 
and  (Jailer  at  Richmond,  with  honey-suckles  mayhap  trailing 
round  the  windows,  from  which  you  behold  one  of  the  most  love- 
ly and  pleasant  of  wood  and  river  scenes.  The  tables  are  deco- 
rated with  flowers,  rich  wine-cups  sparkle  on  the  board,  and  Cap- 
tain Jones'  party  have  everything  they  can  desire.  Their  dinner 
over,  and  that  company  gone,  the  same  waiters,  the  same  flowers, 


162  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP   ' 

the  same  cups  and  crystals,  array  themselves  for  Mr.  Brown  and 
Ms  party*  Or,  if  you  won't  have  Agnes.  Twysden  compared  to 
the  Star  and  Garter  Tavern,  which  must  admit  mixed  company, 
liken  her  to  the  chaste  moon  who  shines  on  shepherds  of  all  eonv 
plexions,  swarthy  or  fair. 

When,  oppressed  by  superior  odds,  a  commander  is  forced  to 
retreat,  we  like  him  to  show  his  skill  by  carrying  off  his  guns, 
treasure,  and  camp  equipages.  Doctor  Firmin,  beaten  by  fort- 
une and  compelled  to  fly,  showed  quite  a  splendid  skill  and  cool- 
ness in  his  manner  of  decamping,  and  left  the  very  smallest 
amount  of  spoils  in  the  hands  of  the  victorious  enemy.  His  wines 
had  been  famous  among  the  grave  epicures  with  whom  he  dined; 
he  used  to  boast,  like  a  worthy  bon  vivant  who  knows  the  value 
of  wine-conversation  after  dinner,  of  the  quantities  which  he  pos- 
sessed, and  the  rare  bins  which  he  had  in  store;  but  when  the 
executioners  came  to  arrange  his  sale,  there  was  found  only  a 
beggarly  account  of  empty  bottles,  and  I  fear  some  of  the  unprin- 
cipled creditors  put  in  a  great  quantity  of  bad  liquor  which  they 
endeavored  to  foist  off  on  the  public  as  the  genuine  and  carefully 
selected  stock  of  a  well-known  connoisseur.  News  of  this  dis- 
honest proceeding  reached  Dr.  Firmin  presently  in  his  retreat ; 
and  he  showed  by  his  letter  a  generous  and  manly  indignation  at 
the  manner  in  which  his  creditors  had  tampered  with  his  honest 
name  and. reputation  as  a  bon  vivant.  He  have  bad  wine!  For 
shame  !  He  had  the  best  from  the  best  wine-merchant,  and  paid, 
or  rather  owed,  the  best  prices  for  it ;  for  of  late  years  the  doc- 
tor had  paid  no  bills  at  all ;  and  the  wine-merchant  appeared  in 
quite  a  handsome  group  of  figures  in  his  schedule.  In  like  man- 
ner his  books  were  pawned  to  a  book  auctioneer ;  and  Brice,  the 
butler,  had  a  bill  of  sale  for  the  furniture.  Firmin  retreated,  we 
will  not  say  with  the  honors  of  war,  but  as  little  harmed  as  pos- 
sible by  defeat.  Did  the  enemy  want  the  plunder  of  his  city  ? 
He  had  smuggled  almost  all  his  valuable  goods  over  the  wall. 
Did  they  desire. his  ships?  He  had  sunk  them;  and  when  at 
length  the  conquerors  poured  into  his  stronghold,,  he  was  far  be- 
yond the  reach  of  their  shot.  Don't  we  often  hear  still  that  Nana 
Sahib  is  alive  and  exceedingly  comfortable  ?  We  do  not  love 
him  ;  but  we  can't  help  having  a  kind  of  admiration  for  that  slip- 
pery fugitive  who  has  escaped  from  the  dreadful  jaws  of  the  lion. 
In  a  word,  when  Firmin's  furniture  came  to  be  sold,  it  was  a 
marvel  how  little  his  creditors  benefited  by  the  sale.  Contemptu- 
ous brokers  declared  there  never  was  such  a  shabby  lot  of  goods. 
A  friend  of  the  house  and  poor  Philip  bought  in  his  mother's  pict- 
ure for  a  few  guineas ;  and  as  for  the  doctor's  own  state  portrait, 
I  am  afraid  it  went  for  a  i'ew  shillings  only,  and  in  the  midst  of  a 
roar  of  Hebrew  laughter.  I  saw  in  Wardour  street,  not  long 
after,  the  doctor's  sideboard,  and  what  dealers  cheerfully  call  the 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  103 

sarcophagus  cellaret.  Poor  doctor!  his  wine  was  all  drunken; 
his  meat  was  eaten  up  ;  but  his  own  body  had  slipped  out  of  the 
reach  of  the  hook-beaked  birds  of  prey. 

We  had  spoken  rapidly  in  undertones,  innocently  believing 
that  the  young  people  round  about  us  were  taking  no  heed  of 
our  talk.  But  in  a  lull  of  the  conversation,  Mr.  Pendennis, 
Junior,  who  had  always  been  a  friend  to  Philip,  broke  out  with 
— "  Philip !  if  you  are  so  very  poor,  you  '11  be  hungry,  you  know, 
and  you  may  have  my  piece  of  bread  and  jam.  And  I  don't 
want  it,  mamma,"  he  added;  "and  you  know  Philip  has  often 
and  often  given  me  things." 

Philip  stooped  down  and  kissed  this  good  little  Samaritan. 
"  I  'm  not  hungry,  Arty,  my  boy,"  he  said  ;  "  and  I'm  not  so  poor 
but  I  have  got — look  here — a  fine  new  shilling  for  Arty !" 

"  Oh,  Philip,  Philip  !"  cried  mamma. 

"  Don't  take  the  money,  Arthur,"  cried  papa. 

And  the  boy,  with  a  rueful  face  but  a  manly  heart,  prepared 
to  give  back  the  coin.  "  It's  quite  a  new  one;  and  it's  a  very 
pretty  one:  but  I  won't  have  it,  Philip,  thank  you,"  he  said, 
turning  very  red. 

"  If  he  won't,  I  vow  I  will  give  it  to  the  cabman,"  said  Philip. 

"  Keeping  a  cab  all  this  while  ?  Oh,  Philip,  Philip  !"  again 
cries  mamma  the  economist. 

"  Loss  of  time  is  loss  of  money,  my  dear  lady,"  says  Philip, 
very  gravely.  "  I  have  ever  so  many  places  to  go  to.  When  I 
am  set  in  for  being  ruined,  you  shall  see  what  a  screw  I  will  be- 
come !  I  must  go  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  who  will  be  yery  uneasy, 
poor  dear,  until  she  knows  the  worst." 

"  Oh,  Philip,  I  should  like  so  to  go  with  you  !"  cries  Laura. 
"  Pray,  give  her  our  very  best  regards  and  respects." 

"  Merci !"  said  the  young  man,  and  squeezed  Mrs.  Pendennis' 
hand  in  his  own  big  one.  "  I  will  take  your  message  to  her, 
Laura.     J ''aim?,  qu\m  I'aime,  savez-vous  V 

"  That  means,  I  love  those  who  love  her,"  cries  little  Laura  ; 
"  but  I  don't  know,"  remarked  this  little  person  afterward  to  her 
paternal  confidant,  "that  I  like  all  people  to  love  ray  mamma. 
That  is,  I  don't  like  her  to  like  them,  papa — only  you  may, 
papa,  and  Ethel  may,  and  Arthur  may,  and  I  think,  Philip  may, 
now  he  is  poor  and  quite,  quite  alone — and  we  will  take  care  of 
him,  won't  we  ?  And,  I  think,  I'll  buy  him  something  with  my 
money  which  Aunt  Ethel  gave  me." 

"  And  I  '11  give  him  my  money,"  cries  a  boy. 

"  And  I  '11  div  him  my — my — "  Pshaw  !  what  matters  what 
the  little  sweet  lips  prattled  in  their  artless  kindness  ?  But  the 
soft  words  of  love  and  pity  smote  the  mother's  heart  with  an  ex- 
quisite pang  of  gratitude  and  joy  ;  and  I  know  where  her  thanks 
were  paid  for  those  tender  words  and  thoughts  of  her  little  ones. 

Mrs.  Pendennis  made  Philip  promise  to  come  to  dinner,  and 


164  THK    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

also  to  remember  not  to  take  a  cab — which  promise  Mr.  Firmin 
had  not  much  difficulty  in  executing,  for  he  had  but  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  to  walk  across  the  Park  from  his  club ;  and  I  must 
say  that  my  wife  took  a  special  care  of  our  dinner  that  day,  pre- 
paring for  Philip  certain  dishes  which  she  knew  he  liked,  and 
enjoining  the  butler  of  the  establishment  (who  also,  happened  to 
be  the  owner  of  the  house)  to  fetch  from  his  cellar  the  very 
choicest  wine  in  his  possession. 

I  have  previously  described  our  friend  and  his  boisterous,  im- 
petuous, generous  nature.  When  Philip  was  moved,  he  called 
to  all  the-  world  to  witness  his  emotion.  When  he  was  angry, 
his  enemies  were  all  the  rogues  and  scoundrels  in  the  world. 
He  vowed  he  would  have  no  mercy  on  them,  and  desired  all  his 
acquaintances  to  participate  in  his  anger.  How  could  such  an 
open-mouthed,  son  have  had  such  ariose-spoken  father?  I  dare 
say  you  have  seen  very  well-bred  young  people  the  children  of 
vulgar  and  ill-bred  parents ;  the  swaggering  father  have  a  silent 
son ;  the  loud  mother  a  piodest  daughter.  Our  friend  is  not 
Amadis  or  Sir  Charles  Grandison  ;  and  I  don't  set  him  up  for  a 
moment  as  a  person  to  be  revered  or  imitated  ;  but  try  to  draw 
him  faithfully,  and  as  nature  made  him.  As  nature  made  him, 
so  he  was.  I  don't  think  he  tried  to  improve^  himself  much. 
Perhaps  few  people  do.  They  suppose  they  do  ;  and  you  read, 
in  apologetic  memoirs  and  fond  biographies,  how  this  man  cured 
his  bad  temper,  and  t'  other  worked  an*d  strove  until  he  grew  to 
be  almost  faultless.  Very  well  and  good,  my  good  people.  You 
can  learn  a  language  ;  you  can  master  a  science ;  I  have  heard 
of  an  old  squaretoes  of  sixty  who  learned,  by  study  and  intense 
application,  very  satisfactorily  to  dance  ;  but  can  you,  by  taking 
thought,  add  to  your  moral  stature  ?  Ah  me  1  the  doctor  who 
preaches  is  only  taller  than  most  of  us  by  the  height  of  the  pul- 
pit :  and  when  he  sleps  down  1  dare  say  he  cringes  to  the  duch- 
ess, growls  at  his  children,  scolds  his  wife  about  the  dinner.  All 
is  vanity,  look  you  ;  and  so  the  preacher  is  vanity,  too. 

Well,  then,  I  must  again  say  that  Philip  roared  his  griefs :  he 
shouted  his  laughter  :  he  bellowed  his  applause :  he  was  extrava- 
gant in  his  humility  as  in  his  pride,  in  his  admiration  of  his  friends 
and  contempt  for  his  enemies:  I  dare  say  not  a  just  man,  but  I 
have  met  juster  men  not  half  so  honest ;  and  certainly  not  a  fault- 
less man,  though  I  know  better  men  not  near  so  good.  So,  I  be- 
lieve, my  wife  thinks:  else  why  should  she  be  so  fond  of  him? 
Did  we  not  know  boys  who  never  went  out  of  bounds,  and  never 
were  late  for  school,  and  never  made  a  false  concord  or  quantity, 
and  never  came  under  the  ferule ;  and  others  who  were  always 
playing  truant,  and  blundering,  and  being  whipped;  and  yet, 
somehow,  was  not  Master  Naughtyboy  better  liked  than  Master 
Good  child  ?  When  Master  Naughtyboy  came  to  dine  with  us  on 
the  first  day  of  his  ruin,  he  bore  a  face  of  radiant  happiness — he 


ON   HIS   WAY    THROUGH    THK    WORLD.  165 

laughed,  he  bounce/1  about,  he  caressed  the  children  ;  now  he 
took  a  couple  on  his  .knees;  now  he  tossed  the  baby  to  the  ceil- 
ing; now  he  sprawled  over  a  sofa,  and  now  he  rode  upon  a  chair  ; 
never  was  a  penniless  gentleman  more  cheerful.  As  for  his  din- 
ner, Phil's  appetite  was  always  fine,  but  on  this  day  an  ogre 
could  scarcely  play  a  more  terrible  knife  and  fork.  He  asked  for 
more  and  more,  until  his  entertainers  wondered  to  behold  him. 
"  Dine  for  to-day  and  to-morrow,  too ;  can't  expect  such  fare  as 
this  every  day,  you  know.  This  claret,  how  good  it  is !  May  I 
pack  some  up  in  paper,  and  take  it  home  with  me  ?"  The  children 
roared  with  laughter  at  this  admirable  idea  of  carrying  homo 
wine  in  a  sheet  of  paper.  I  don't  know  that  it  is  always  at  the 
best  jokes  that  children  laugh — children  and  wise  men  too. 

When  we  three  were  by  ourselves,  and  freed  from  the  company 
of  servants  and  children,  our  friend  told  us  the  cause  of  his 
gayety.  u  By  George  !"  he  swore,  "  it  is  worth  being  ruined  to 
find  such  good  people  in  the  world.  My  dear,  kind  Laura" — 
here  the  gentleman  brushes  his  eyes  with  his  fist — " it  was  as 
much  as  I  could  do  this  morning  to  prevent  myself  from  hugging 
you  in  my  arms,  you  were  so  generous,  and — and  so  kind,  and  so 
tender,  and  so  good,  by  George.  And  after  leaving  you,  where 
do  you  think  I  went  ?" 

44 1  think  I  can  guess,  Philip,"  says  Laura. 

M  Well,"  says  Philip,  winking  his  eyes  again,  and  tossing  off  a 
great  bumper  of  wine,  "  I  went  to  her,  of  course.  I  think  she  i9 
the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world.  The  old  man  was  out,  and 
I  told  her  about  everything  that  had  happened.  And  what  do 
you  think  she  has  done  ?  She  says  she  has  been  expecting  me — - 
she  has;  and  she  has  gone  and  fitted  up  a  room  with  a  nice  little 
bed  at  the  top  of  the  house,  with  everything  as  neat  and  trim  as 

{)ossible;  and  she  begged  and  prayed  I  would  go  ana*  stay  with 
ler— and  I  said  I  would,  to  please  her.  And  then  she  takes  me 
down  to  her  room;  and  she  jumps  up  to  a  cupboard,  which  she 
unlocks;  and  she  opens  and  takes  three-and-twenty  pounds  out 
of  a — out  of  a  tea — out  of  a  tea-caddy — confound  me  ! — and  she 
says,  '  Here  Phifip,'  she  says,  and — Boo  !  what  a  fool  I  am  1"  and 
here  the  orator  fairly  broke  down  in  his  speech. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN  WHICH  PHILIP  SHOWS    HIS    METTLE. 

When  the  poor  Little  Sister  proffered  her  mite,  her  all,  to 
Philip,  I  dare  say  some  sentimental  passages  occurred  between 
them  which  are  much  too  trivial  to  be  narrated.  No  doubt  her 
pleasure  would  have  been  at  that  moment  to  give  him  not  only 
that  gold  which  she  had  been  saying  up  against  rent-day,  but  the 


166  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

spoons,  the  furniture,  and  all  the  valuables  of  the  house,  includ- 
ing, perhaps,  J.  J.'s  brieabrac,  cabinets,  china,  and  so  forth.  To 
perform  a  kindness,  an  act  of  self-sacrifice  ;  are  not  these  the 
most  delicious  privileges  of  female  tenderness  ?  Philip  checked 
his  little  friend's  enthusiasm.  He  showed  her  a  purse  full  of 
money,  at  which  sight  the  poor  little  soul  was  rather  disappointed. 
He  magnified  the  value  of  his  horses,  which,  according  to  Philip's 
calculation,  were  to  bring  him  at  least  two  hundred  pounds  more 
than  the  stock  which  he  had  already  in  hand ;  and  the  master 
of  such  a  sum  as  this,  she  was  forced  to  confess,  had  no  need  to 
,  despair.  Indeed,  she  had  never  in  her  life  possessed  the  half  of 
it.  Pier  kind  dear  little  offer  of  a  home  in  her  house  he  would 
accept  sometimes,  and  with  gratitude.  Well,  there  was  a  little 
consolation  in  that.  In  a  moment  that  active  little  housekeeper 
saw  the  room  ready  ;  flowers  on  the  mantel-piece  ;  his  looking- 
glass,  which  her  father  could  do  quite  well  with  the  little  one,  as 
he  was  always  shaved  hy  the  barber  now  ;  the  quilted  counter- 
pane, which  she  had  herself  made :  I  know  not  what  more  im- 
provements she  devised :  and  1  fear  that  at  the  idea  of  having 
Philip  with  her,  this  little  thing  was  as  extravagantly  and  un- 
reasonably happy  as  we  have  just  now  seen  Philip  to  be.  What 
was  that  last  dish  which  Psetus  and  Arria  shared  in  common? 
I  have  lost  my  Lempiiere's  dictionary  (that  treasure  of  my 
youth),  and  forget  whether  it  was  a  cold  dagger  au  naturel,  or  a 
dish  of  hot  coals  a  la  Ilomaine,  of  which  they  partook  ;  but,  what- 
ever it  was,  she  smiled,  and  delightedly  received  it,  happy  to 
share  the  beloved  one's  fortune. 

Yes :  Philip  would  come  home  to  his  Little  Sister  sometimes : 
sometimes  of  a  Saturday,  and  they  would  go  to  church  on  Sun- 
day, as  he  used  to  do  when  he  was  a  boy  at  school.  "  But.then, 
you  know,"  says  Phil,  "  law  is  law  ;  study  is  study.  I  must  de- 
vote my  whole  energies  to  my  work — get  up  very  early." 

"  Don't  tire  your  eyes,  my  dear,"  interposes  Mr.  Philip's  soft 
judicious  friend. 

"  There  must  be  no  trifling  with  work,"  says  Philip,  with  aw- 
ful gravity.  "  There's  Benton  the  Judge  :  Benton  and  Burbage, 
you  know." 

"  Oh,  Benton  and  Burbage  !"  whispers  the  Little  S:ster",  not  a 
little  bewildered. 

M  How  do  you  suppose  he  became  a  judge  before  forty  ?" 

"  Before  forty  who  V  law  ;  bless  me  !" 

"  Before  he  was  forty,  Mrs.  Carry.  When  he  came  to  work, 
he  had  his  own  way  to  make :  just  like  me.  He  had  a  small  al- 
lowance from  his  father  :  that 's  not  like  me.  He  took  chambers 
in  the  Temple.  He  went  to  a  pleader's  office.  He  read  four- 
teen, fifteen  hours  every  day.  He  dined  on  a  cup  of  tea  and  a 
mutton-chop." 

"  La,  bless  me,  child !  I  would  n't  have  you  do  that,  not  to  be 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  167 

Lord  Chamberlain — Chancellor  what 's  his  name  ?  Destroy  your 
youth  with  reading,  and  your  eyes,  and  go  without  your  dinner? 
You  're  not  used  to  that  sort  of  thing,  dear  ;  and  it  would  kill 
you  !" 

Philip  smoothed  his  fair  hair  off  his  ample  forehead,  and  nodded 
his  bead,  smiling  sweetly.  ]  think  his  inward  monitor  hinted  to. 
him  that  there  was  not  much  danger  of  his  killing  himself  by 
overwork.  "  To  succeed  at  the  law,  as  in  all  other  professions,"  he 
continued,  with  much  gravity,  "  requires  the  greatest  persever- 
ance, and  industry.,  and  talent;  and  then,  perhaps,  you  don't 
succeed.     Man)"  have  failed  who  have  had  all  these  qualities." 

"  Bui  they  have  n't  talents  like  my  Philip,  I  know  they 
have  n't.  And  I  had  to  stand  up  in  a  court  once,  and  was  cross- 
examined  by  a  vulgar  man  before  a  horrid  deaf  old  judge  ;  and 
I  'm  sure  if  your  lawyers  are  like  them  I  don't  wish  you  to  suc- 
ceed at  all.  And  now,  look!  there  's  a  nice  loin  of  pork  coming 
up.  Pa  loves  roast  pork  ;  and  aou  must  come  and  have  some 
with  us ;  and  every  day,  and  all  days,  my  dear,  I  should  like  to 
see  you  seated  there."  And  the  Little  Sister  frisked  about  here, 
and  bustled  there,  and  brought  a  cunning  bottle  of  wine  from 
some  corner,  and  made  the  boy  welcome.  So  that,  you  see,  far 
from  starving,  he  actually  had  two  dinners  on  that  first  day  of 
his  ruin. 

Caroline  consented  to  a  compromise  regarding  the  money,  on 
Philip's  solemn  vow  and  promise  that  she  should  be  his  banker 
whenever  necessity  called.  She  rather  desired  his  poverty  for 
the  sake  of  its  precious  reward.  She  hid  away  a  little  bag  of 
gold  for  her  darling's  use  whenever  he  should  need  it.  I  dare 
say  she  pinched  and  had  shabby  dinners  at  home,  so  as  to  save 
yet  more,  and  so  caused  the  captain  to  grumble.  Why,  for  that 
boy's  sake,  I  believe  she  would  have  been  capable  of  shaving  her 
lodgers'  legs  of  mutton,  and  levying  a  tax  on  their  tea-caddies 
and  baker's  stuff.  If  you  don't  like  unprincipled  attachments  of 
this  sort,  and  only  desire  that  your  womankind  should  love  you 
for  yourself,  and  according  to  your  deserts,  I  am  your  very  hum- 
ble servant.  Hereditary  bondswomen  !  you  know,  that  were 
you  free,  and  did  you  strike  the  blow,  my  dears,  you  were  un- 
happy for  your  pain,  and  eagerly  would  claim  your  bonds  again. 
What  poet  has  uttered  that  sentiment  ?  It  is  perfectly  true,  and 
I  know  will  receive  the  cordial  approbation  of  the  dear  ladies. 

Philip  has  decreed  in  his  own  mind  that  he  will  go  and  live  in 
those  chambers  in  the  Temple  where  we  have  met  him.  Van- 
jehn,  the  sporting  gentleman,  had  determined  for  special  reasons 
to  withdraw  from  law  and  sport  in  this  country,  and  Mr.  Firmin 
took  possession  of  his  vacant  sleeping  chamber.  To  furnish  a 
bachelor's  bedroom  need  not  be  a  matter  of  much  cost ;  but  Mr. 
Philip  was  too  good-natured  a  fellow  to  haggle  about  the  valua- 
tion of  Vanjohn's  bedsteads  and  chests  of  drawers,  and  generously 


168  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

took  them  at  twice  their  value.  He  and  Mr.  Cassidy  now  divided 
the  rooms  in  equal  reign.  Ah,  happy  rooms,  bright  rooms,  rooms 
near  the  sky,  to  remember  you  is  to  be  young  again!  for  I  would 
have  you  to  know,  that  when  Philip  went  to  take  possession  of 
his  share  of  the  fourth  floor  in  the  Temple,  his  biographer  was 
still  comparatively  juvenile,  and  in  one  or  two  very  old-fashioned 
families  was  called  "  young  Pendennis." 

So  Philip  Firmin  dwelt  in  a  garret ;  aud  the  fourth  part  of  a 
laundress  and  the  half  of  a  boy  now  formed  the  domestic  estab- 
lishment of  him  who  had  been  attended  by  housekeepers,  but- 
lers, and  obsequious  liveried  menials.  To  be  freed  from  that 
ceremonial  and  etiquette  of  plush  and  worsted-  lace  was  an  im- 
mense relief  to  Firmin.  His  pipe  need  not  lurk  in  crypts  or  back 
closets  now ;  its  fragrance  breathed  over  the  whole  chambers, 
and  rose  up  to  the  sky,  their  near  neighbor. 

The  first  month  or  two  after  being  ruined,  Philip  vowed,  was 
an  uncommonly  pleasant  time.  He  had  still  plenty  of  money  in 
his  pocket;  and  the  sense  that,  perhaps,  it  was  imprudent  to 
take  a  cab  or  drink  a  bottle  of  wine,  added  a  zest  to  those  enjoy- 
ments which  they  by  «no  means  possessed  when  they  were  easy 
and  of  daily  occurrence,  I  am  not  certain  that  a  dinner  of  beef 
and  porter  did  not  amuse  our  young  man  almost  as  well  as  ban- 
quets much  more  costly  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed.  Ho 
laughed  at  the  pretensions  of  his  boyish  days,  when  he  and  other 
solemn  young  epicures  used  to  sit  down  to  elaborate  tavern  ban- 
quets, and  pretend  to  criticise  vintages,  and  sauces,  and  turtle. 
As  yet  there  was  not  only  content  with  his  dinner,  but  plenty 
therewith  ;  and  I  do  not  wish  to  alarm  you  by  supposing  that 
Philip  will  ever  have  to  encounter  any  dreadful  extremities  of 
poverty  or  hunger  in  the  course  of  his  history.  The  wine  in  the 
jug  was  very  low  at  times,  but  it  never  was  quite  empty.  This 
lamb  was  shorn,  but  the  wind  was  tempered  to  him. 

'  So  Philip  took  possession  of  his  rooms  in  the  Temple,  and  be- 
gan actually  to  reside  there  just  as  the  long  vacation  commenced 
which  he  intended  to  devote  to  a  course  of  serious  study  of  the 
law  and  private  preparation,  before  he  should  venture  on  the 
great  business  of  circuits  and  the  bar.  Nothing  is  more  necessa- 
ry for  desk-men  than,  exercise,  so  Philip  took  a  good  deal ;  es- 
pecially on  the  water,  where  he  pulled  a  famous  oar.  Nothing 
is  more  natural  after  exercise  than  refreshment ;  and  Mr.  Firmin, 
now  he  was  too  poor  for  claret,  showed  a  great  capacity  for  beer. 
After  beer  and  bodily  labor,  rest,  of  course,  is  necessary ;  and 
Firmin  slept  nine  hours,  and  looked  as  rosy  as  a  girl  in  her  first 
season.  Then  such  a  man,  with  such  a  frame  and  health,  must 
have  a  good  appetite  for  breakfast.  And  then  every  man,  who 
wishes  to  succeed  at  the  bar,  in  the  senate,  on  the  bench,  in  the 
House  of  Peers,  on  the  Woolsack,  must  know  the  quotidian  his- 
tory of  his  country ;  so,  of  course,  Philip  read  the  newspaper. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  169 

Thus,  you  see,  his  hours  of  study  were  perforce  curtailed  by  the 
necessary  duties  which  -distracted  him  from  his  labors. 

It  has  been  said  that  Mr.  Firmin's  companion  in  chambers, 
Mr.  Cassidy,  was  a  native  of  the  neighboring  kingdom  of  Ireland, 
and  engaged  in  literary  pursuits  in  this  country.  A  merry, 
shrewd,  silent,  observant  little  man,  he,  unlike  some  of  his  com- 
patriots, always  knew  how  to  make  both  ends  meet ;  feared  no 
man  alive  in  the  character  of  a  dun ;  and  out  of  small  earnings 
managed  to  transmit  no  small  comforts  and  subsidies  to  old  par- 
ents living  somewhere  in  Munster.  Of  Cassidy's  friends  was 
Finucane,  now  editor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette ;  he  married  the 
widow  of  the  late  eccentric  and  gifted  Captain  Shandon,  and 
Cass,  himself  was  the  fashionable  correspondent  of  the  Gazette, 
chronicling  the  marriages,  deaths,  births,  dinner-parties  of  the 
nobility.  These  Irish  gentlemen  knew  other  Irish  gentlemen, 
connected  with  other  newspapers,  who  formed  a  little  literary 
society.  They  assembled  at  each  other's  rooms,  and  at  haunts 
where  social  pleasure  was  to  be  purchased  at  no  dear  rate. 
Philip  Firmin  was  known  to  many  of  them  before  his  misfortunes 
occurred,  and  when  there  was  gold  in  plenty  iu  his  pocket,  and 
never-failing  applause  for  his  songs. 

When  Pendennis  and  his  friends  wrote  in  this  newspaper,  it 
was  impertinent  enough,  and  many  men  must  have  heard  the 
writers  laugh  at  the  airs  which  they  occasionally  thought  proper 
to  assume.  The  tone  which  they  took  amused,  annoyed,  tickled, 
was  popular.  It  was  continued,  and,  of  course,  caricatured  by 
their  successors.  They  worked  for  very  moderate  fees ;  but 
paid  themselves  by  impertinence,  and  the  satisfaction  of  assail- 
ing their  betters.  Three  or  four  persons  were  reserved  from 
their  abuse  ;  but  somebody  was  sure  every  week  to  be  tied  up 
at  their  post,  and  the  public  made  sport  of  the  victim's  contor- 
tions. The  writers  were  obscure  barristers,  ushers,  and  college 
men,  but  they  had  omnisicence  at  their  pen's  end,  and  were 
ready  to  lay  down  the  law  on  any  given  subject, — to  teach  any 
man  his  business,  were  it,  a  bishop  in  his  pulpit,  a  Minister  in 
his  place  in  the  House,  a  captain  on  his  quarter-deck,  a  tailor  on 
his  shopboard,  or  a  jockey  in  his  saddle. 

Since  those  early  days  of  the  PaU  Mall  Gazette,  when  old 
Shandon  wielded  his  truculent  tomahawk,  and  Messrs. 
W — rr — ngt, — n  and  P — nd — nn — s  followed  him  in  the  war- 
path,  the  Gazette  had  passed  through  several  hands;  and  the 
victims  who  were  immolated  by  the  editors  of  to-day  were  very 
likely  the  objects  of  the  best  puffery  of  the  last  dynasty.  To  be 
(togged  in  what  was  your  own  school-room — that,  surely,  is  a 
queer  sensation  ;  and  when  my  Report  was  published  on  the  de- 
cay of  the  sealing-wax  tra<le  in  the  three  kingdoms  (ovying  to 
the  pie  valence  of  gummed  envelopes — as  you  may  see  in  that 
masterly  document),  I  was  horsed  up  and  smartly  whipped  in 
15 


170  THE    ADVENTTJT5F8    OF    PHILIP 

the"  Gazette  by  some  of  the  rods  which  had  come  out  of  pickle 
since  my  time.  Was  not  good  Dr.  Guillotin  executed  by  his 
own  neat  invention  ?  I  don't  know  who  was  the  Monsieur  Sam- 
son who  operated  on  me  ;  but  have  always  had  nay  idea  that 
Digger,  of  Corpus,  was  the  man  to  whom  my  flagellation  was 
intrusted.  His  father  keeps  a  ladies'-school  at  Hackney;  but 
there  is  an  air  of  fashion  in  every  thing  which  Digges  writes, 
and  a  chivalrous  conversatism  which  makes  me  pretty  certain 
thai  D.  was  my  scarifier.  All  this,  however,  is  naught.  Let  us 
turn  away  from  the  author's  private  griefs  and  egotisms  to  those 
of  the  hero  of  the  story. 

Does  any  one  remember  the  appearance,  some  twenty  years 
ago,  of  a  little  book  called  Trumpet  Calls — a  book  of  songs  and 
poetry,  dedicated  to  his  brother  officers  by  Cornet  Canterton  V 
His  trumpet  was  very  tolerably  melodious,  and  the  cornet  played 
some  small  airs  on  it  with  some  little  grace  and  skill.  But  this 
poor  Canterton  belonged  to  the  Life  Guards  Green,  and  Philip 
Finnin  would  have  liked  to  have  the  lives  of  one  or  two  troops  at 
least  of  that  corps.  Entering  into  Mr.  Cassidy's  room.  Philip 
found  the  little  volume.  He  set  to  work  to  exterminate  Canter- 
ton. He  rode  him  down,  trampled  over  his  face  and  carcass, 
knocked  the  Trumpet  Calls  and  all  the  teeth  out  of  the  trumpet- 
er's throat.  Never  was  such  a  smashing  article  as  he  wrote. 
And  Mugford,  Mr.  Cassidy's  chief  and  owner,  who  likes  always 
to  have  at  least  one  man  served  up  and  hashed  small  in  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette,  happened  at  this  very  juncture  to  have  no  other 
victim  ready  in  his  larder.  Philip's  review  appeared  there  in 
print.  He  rushed  oil'  with  immense  glee  to  Westminister,  to 
show  us  his  performance.  Nothing  must  content  him  but  to  give 
a  dinner  at  Greenwich  on  his  success.  Oh,  Philip  !  AVe  wished 
that  this  had  not  been  his  first  fee ;  and  that  sober  law  had  given 
it  to  him,  and  not  the  graceless  and  fickle  muse  with  whom  he 
had  been  fl'rting.  For,  truth  to  say,  certain  wise  old  heads 
which  wagged  over  his  performance  could  see  but  little  merit  in 
it  His  style  was  coarse,  his  wit  clumsy  and  savage.  Never 
mind  characterizing  either  now.  He  has  seen  the  error  of  his 
ways,  and  divorced  with  the  muse  whom  he  never  ought  to  have 
wooed. 

The  shrewd  Cassidy  not  only  could  not  write  himself,  but 
knew  he  could  not— or,  at  least*  pen  more  than  a  plain  para- 
graph, or  n  brief  sentence  to  the  point,  but  said  he  would  carry 
this  paper  to  his  chief.  "  His  Excellency"  was  the  nickname  by 
which  this  chief  was  called  by  his  familiars.  Mugford— Freder- 
ick Mugford  was  his  real  name— and  putting  out  of  sight  that 
little  defect  in  his  character,  that'he  committed  a  systematic  lite- 
rary murder  once  a  week,  a  more  worthy,  good-natured  little 
murderer  did  not  live.  He  came  of  the  old  a  liool  of  the  press. 
Like  French  marshals,  he  had  ris.-n  from  the  ranks,  and  retained 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  171 

some  of  the  manners  and  oddities  of  the  private  soldier.  A  new 
race  of  writers  had  grown  up  since  he  enlisted  as  a  printer's  boy 
— men  of  the  world,  with  the  manners  of  other  gentlemen.  Mug- 
ford  never  professed  the  least  gentility.  He  knew  that  his  young 
men  laughed  at  his  peculiarities,  and  did  not  care  a  fig  for  their 
scorn.  As  the  knife  with  which  he  conveyed  his  victuals  to  his 
mouth  went  down  his  throat  at  the  plenteous  banquets  which  he 
gave,  he  saw  his  young  friends  wince,  and  wonder,  and  rather 
relished  their  surprise.  Those  lips  never  eared  in  the  least 
about  placing  his  h's  in  right  places.  They  used  bad  language 
with  great  freedom — (to  hear  him  bullying  a  printing-office  was 
a  wonder  of  eloquence) — but  they  betrayed  no  secrets,  and  the 
words  which  they  uttered  you  might  trust.  He  had  belonged  to 
two  or  three  parties,  and  had  respected  them  all.  When  he 
went  to  the  Under-Secretary's  office  he  was  never  kept  waiting; 
and  once  or  twice  Mrs.  Mugford,  who  governed  him,  ordered 
him  to  attend  the  Saturday  reception  of  the  Ministers'  ladies, 
where  he  might  be  seen,  with  dirty  hands  it  is  true,  but  a  richly 
embroidered  waistcoat  and  fancy  satis  tie.  His  heart,  however, 
WM  not  in  these  entertainments.  I  have  heard  him  say  that  he 
only  came  because  Mrs.  M.  would  have  it ;  and  he  frankly  owned 
that  he  •*  would  rather  'avc  a  pipe  and  a  drop  of  something  'ot 
than  all  your  ires  and  rubbish." 

Mugford  had  a  curious  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on  in 
the  world,  and  of  the  affairs  of  countless  people.  When  Cass, 
brought  Philip's  article  to  his  Excellency,  and  mentioned  the.  au- 
thor's name,  Mugford  showed  himself  to  be  perfectly  familiar 
with  the  histories  of  Philip  and  his  father.  "  The  old  chap  has 
nobbled  the  young  fellow's  money,  almost  every  shilling  of  it,  I 
hear.  Knew  he  never  would  carry  on.  His  discounts  would 
have  killed  any  man.  Seen  his  paper  about  this  ten  year. 
Young  one  is  a  gentleman — passionate  fellow,  hawhaw  fellow, 
but  kind  to  the  poor.  Father  never  was  a  gentleman,  with  all  his 
fine  airs  and  fine  waistcoats.  I  don't  set  up  in  that  line  myself, 
Cass.,  but  J  tell  you  1  know  *em  when  I  see  'em." 

Philip  had  friends  and  private  patrons  whose  influence  was 
great  with  the  Mugford  family,  and  of  whom  he  little  knew. 
Byery  year  Mrs.  M.  was  in  the  habit  of  contributing  a  Mugford 
to  the  world.  She  was  one  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  most  regular  cli- 
ents; and  year  after  year,  almost  from  his  first  arrival  in  Lon- 
don, Ridley,  the  painter,  had  been  engaged  as  portrait 
painter  to  this  worthy  family.  Philip  and  his  illm 
Philip  and  his  horses,  splendors,  and  cntcrtainnn  i 
Philip  ami  his  lamentable  downfall  and  ruin,  had  fbnfced 
of  many  an  interesting  talk  between  Mrs.  Mugford 
and  her  friend,  the  Little  Sister;  and  ai  we  know  Caroline's 
infatuation   about    the   JOUng   fellow,  we    may   suppose    that    his 

"i  qualities  lost  nothing  in   tht   description.     When   ihat  ar- 


172  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

tide  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  appeared,  Nurse  Brandon  took 
the  omnibus  to  Haverstock  Hill,  where,  as  you  know,  Mugford 
had  his  villa ;  arrived  at  Mrs.  Mugford's,  Gazette  in  hand,  and 
liad  a  long  and  delightful  conversation  with  that  lady.  Mrs. 
Brandon  bought  I  don't  know  how  many  copies  of  that  Pall 
Mall  Gazette.  She  now  a  ked  for  it  repeatedly  in  her  walks  at 
sundry  ginger-beer  shops,  and  of  all  sorts  of  news-vendors.  I 
have  heard  that  when  the  Mugfords  first  purchased  the  Gazette 
Mrs.  M.  used  to  drop  bills  from  her  pony-chaise,  and  distribute 
placards  setting  forth  the  excellence. of  the  journal.  "  We  keep 
our  carriage,  but  we  ain't  above  our  business,  Brandon,"  that 
good  lady  would  say.  And  the  business  prospered  under  the 
management  of  these  worthy  folks;  and  the  pony-chaise  unfolded 
into  a  noble  barouche  ;  and  the  pony  increased  and  multiplied, 
and  became  a  pair  of  horses  ;  and  there  was  not  a  richer  piece  of 
gold-lace  round  any  coachman's  hat  in  London  than  now  deco- 
rated John,  who  had  grown  with  the  growth  of  his  master's  fort- 
unes, and  drove  the  chariot  in  which  his  worthy  employers  rode 
on  the  way  to  Hainpstead,  honor,  and  prosperity. 

"  All  this  pitching  into  the  poet  is  very  well,  you  know,  Cas- 
sidy,"  says  Mugford  to  his  subordinate.  "  It 's  like  shooting  a 
butterfly  with  a  blunderbuss ;  but  if  Firmin  likes  that  kind  of 
sport,  I  don't  mind.  There  won't  be  any  difficulty  about  taking 
his  copy  at  our  place.  The  duchess  knows  another  old  woman 
who  is  a  friend  of  his  "  (,fc  the  duchess  "  was  the  title  which  Mr. 
Mugford  was  in  the  playful  habit  of  conferring  upon  his  wife). 
"  It  's  my  belief  young  F.  had  better  stick  to  the  law,  and  leave 
the  writing  rubbish  alone.  But  he  knows  his  own  affairs  best, 
and,  mind  you,  the  duchess  is  determined  we  shall  give  him  a 
helping  hand." 

Once-,  in  the  days  of  his  prosperity,  and  in  J.  J.'s  company, 
Philip  had  visited  Mrs.  Mugford  and  her  family — a  circumstance 
which  the  gentleman  had  almost  forgotten.  The  painter  and 
his  friend  were  taking  a  Sunday  walk,  and  came  upon  Mugford's 
pretty  cottage  and  garden,  and  were  hospitably  entertained  there 
by  the  owners  of  the  place.  It  has  disappeared,  and  the  old 
garden  has  long  since  been  covered  by  terraces  and  villas,  and 
Mugford  and  Mrs.  M.,  good  souls,  where  are  they  ?  But  the  lady 
thought  she  had  never  seen  such  a  fine-looking  young  fellow  as 
Philip  ;  cast  about  in  her  mind  which  of  her  little  female  Mug- 
fords  should  marry  him;  and  insisted  upon  offering  her  guest 
champagne.  Poor  Phil!  So,  you  see,  while,  perhaps,  he  was 
rather  pluming  himself  upon  his  literary  talents,  and  imagining 
that  he  was  a  clever  fellow,  he  was  only  the  object  of  a  job  on 
the  part  of  two  or  three  good  folks  who  knew  his  history,  and 
compassionated  his  misfortunes. 

Mugford  recalled  himself  to  Philip's  recollection,  when  they 
met  after  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Phil's  first  performance  in  the 


ON    niS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  173 

Gazette.  If  he  still  took  a  Sunday  walk,  Hauipstead  way,  Mr. 
M.  requested  hiin  to  remember  that  there  was  a  slice  of  beef  and 
a  glass  of  wine  at  the  old  shop.  Philip  remembered  it  well  enough 
now :  the  ugly  room,  the  ugly  family,  the  kind  worthy  people. 
Ere  long  he  learned  what  had  been  Mrs.  Brandon's  connection 
with  them,  and  the  young  man's  heart  was  softened  and  grateful 
as  he  thought  how  this  kind,  gentle  creature  Jiad  been  able  to 
befriend  him.  She,  we  may  be  sure,  was  not  a  little  proud  of  her 
protege.  I  believe  she  grew  to  fancy  that  the  whole  newspaper 
was  written  by  Philip.  She  made  her  fond  parent  read  it  aloud 
as  she  worked.  Mr.  Ridley,  Senior,  pronounced  it  was  remark- 
able fine,  really  now;  without,  I  think,  entirely  comprehending 
the  meaning  of  the  sentiments  which  Mr.  Gann  gave  forth  in  his 
rich  loud  voice,  and  often  dropping  asleep  in  his  chair  during  this 
sermon. 

hi  th"  autumn,  Mr.  Firmin's  friends.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pendennis, 
selected  the  romantic  seaport   town  of  Boulogne  for   their  holi- 
day residence ;  and  having  roomy  quarters  in  the  old  town,  we 
gave  Mr.  Philip  an  invitation  to  pay  us  a  visit  whenever  he  could 
tear  himself  away  from  literal  ure  and  law.     He  came  in  high 
spirits.     He  amused  us  by  imitations  and  descriptions  of  his  new 
proprietor  and  master,  Mr.  Mugford— his  blunders,  his  bad  lan- 
guage, his  good  heart.     One  day  Mugford  expected  a  celebrated 
literary  character  to  dinner,  and  Philip  and  Cassidy  ware  invited 
to  meet  him.     The  great  man  was  ill,  and  was  unable  to  come. 
"  Don't  dish  up  the  side-dishes,"  called  out  Mugford  to  his  cook, 
in  the  hearing  of  his  other  guests.     "  Mr.  Lyon  ain't  a  coming." 
They  dined  quite  sufficiently  without  the  side-dishes,  and  were 
perfectly  cheerful  in  the  absence  of  the  lion.     Mugford  patron- 
ized his  young  men  with  amusing  good-nature.     '« Firmin,  cut 
the  goose  for  the  duchess,  will  you  ?     Cass,  can't  say  Bo  !  to  one, 
he  can't.     Ridley,  a  little  of  the  stuffing.     It  '11  make  your  hair 
curl."     And  Philip  was  going  to  imitate  a  frightful  act  with  the 
cold  steel  (with  which  I  have  said  Philip's  master  used  to  convey 
food  to  his  mouth),  but  our  dear  innocent  third  daughter  uttered 
a  shriek  of  terror,  which  caused  him  to  drop  the  dreadful  weapon. 
Our  darling  little  Florence  is  a  nervous  child,  and  the  sight  of 
an  edged  tool  causes  her  anguish,  ever  since  our  darling  little 
Tom  nearly  cut  his  thumb  off  with  his  father's  razor. 

Our  main  amusement  in  this  delightful  place  was  to  look  at 
the  sea-sick  landing  from  the  steamers;  and  one  day,  as  we  wit- 
nessed this  phenomenon,  Philip  sprang  to  the  ropes  which  divided 
us  from  the  arriving  passengers,  and  with  a  cry  of  "  How  do  you 
do,  general  V"  greeted  a  yellow-faced  gentleman,  who  started 
bac£  and,  to  my  thinking,  s«emed  but  ill  inclined  to  reciprocate 
Philip's  friendly  greeting."  The  general  was  flattered,  no  doubt, 
by  the  bustle  and  interruptions  incidental  to  the  landing.  A 
pallid  lady,  the  partner  of  his  existence  probably,  was  calling 


174  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

out :  "  Noof  et  doo  domestiques,  Doo  V*  to  the  sentries  who  kept 
the  line,  and  who  seemed  little  interested  by  this  family  news. 
A  governess.,  a  tall  young  lady,  and  several  more  male  and  female 
children,  followed  the  pale  lady,  who,  as  I  thought,  looked 
strangely  frightened  when  the  gentleman  addressed  as  general 
communicated  to  her  Philip's  name.  "  Is  that  him  ?"  said  the 
lady  in  questionable  grammar;  and  the  tall  young  lady  turned 
a  pair  of  large  eyes  upon  the  individual  designated  as  "him," 
and  showed  a  pair  of  dark  ringlets,  out  of  which  the  envious  sea- 
nymphs  had  shaken  all  the  curl. 

The  general  turned  out  to  be  General  Baynes ;  the  pale  lady 
was  Mrs.  General  B. ;  the  tall  young  lady  was  Miss  Charlotte 
Baynes,  the  general's  eldest  child;  and  the  other  six,  forming 
nine,  or  "  noof,"  in  all,  as  Mrs.  General  B.  said,  were  the  other 
members  of  the  Baynes  family.  And  here  I  may  as  well  say  why 
the  general  looked  alarmed  on  seeing  Philip,  and  why  the  gen- 
eral's lady  frowned  at  him.  In  action,  one  of  the  bravest  of  men, 
in  common  life  General  Baynes  was  timorous  and  weak.  Spe- 
cially he  was  afraid  of  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  who  ruled  him  Avith 
a  vigorous  authority.  As  Philip's  trustee,  he  had  allowed  Philip's 
father  to  make  away  with  the  boy's  money.  He  learned  with  a 
ghastly  terror  that  he  was  answerable  for  his  own  remissness  and 
want  of  care.  For  a  long  while  he  did  not  dare  to  tell  his  com- 
mander-in-chief of  this  dreadful  penalty  which  was  hanging  over 
him.  When  at  last  he  ventured  upon  this  confession,  I  do  not 
envy  him  the  scene  which  must  have  ensued  between  him  and 
his  commanding  officer.  The  morning  after  the  fatal  confession, 
when  the  children  assembled  for  breakfast  and  prayers,  Mrs. 
Baynes  gave  the  young  ones  their  porridge  ;  she  and  Charlotte 
pourcd'out  the  tea  and  coffee  for  the  elders,  and  then  addressing 
her  eldest  son  Ochterlony,  she  said,  "  Ocky,  my  boy,  the  general 
has  announced  a  charming  piece  of  news  this  morning." 

"  Bought  that  pony,  sir  ?"  says  Ocky. 

44  Oh,  what  jolly  fun  !"  says  Moira,  the  second  son. 

"  Dear,  dear  papa !  what  's  the  matter,  and  why  do  you  look 
so  V  cries  Charlotte,  looking  behind  her  father's  paper. 

That  guilty  man  would  fain  have  made  a  shroud  of  his  Morn- 
big  Herald.  He  would  have  flung  the  sheet  over  his  whole  body, 
and  lain  hidden  there  from  all  eyes. 

14  The  fun,  my  dears,  is,  that  your  father  is  ruined  :  that 's  the 
fun.  Eat  your  porridge  now,  little  ones.  Charlotte,  pop  a  bit 
of  buUer  in  Carrick's  porridge,  for  you  mayn't  have  any  to- 
morrow." 

44  Oh,  gammon,"  cries  Moira. 

44  You  '11  soon  sec  whether  it  is  gammon  or  not,  sir,  when  you  '11 
be  starving,  sir.  Your  father  has  ruined  us— and  a  very  pleasant 
morning's  work,  I  am  sure." 

And  she  calmly  rubs  the  nose  of  her  youngest  child  who  is 


ON    HIS    WAY    TTIROUGH    TUK    WORLP-  175 

near  her,  and  too  young,  and  innocent,  and  careless,  perhaps,  of 
the  world's  censure  as  yet  to  keep  in  strict  cleanliness  her  own 
dear  little  snub  nose  and  dappled  cheeks. 

"We  are  only  ruined,. and  shall  be  starving  soon,  my  dears, 
and  if  the  general  has  bought  a  pony — as  I  dare  say  he  has;  he 
is  quite  capable  of  buing  a  pony  when  we  are  starving — the  best 
thing  we  can  do  is  to  eat  the  pony.  M'Grigor,  don't  laugh. 
Starvation  is  no  laughing  matter.  When  we  were  at  Dumdum, 
in  '36,  we  ate  some  colt.  Don't  you  remember  Jubber's  colt — 
Jubber  of  the  Horse  Artillery,  general?  Never  tasted  anything 
more  tender  in  all  my  life.  Charlotte,  take  Jany's  hands  out  of 
the  marmalade!  We  are  all  ruined,  my  dears,  as  sure  as  our 
name  is  Baynes."  Thus  did  the  mother  of  the  family  prattle  on 
in  the  midst  of  her  little  ones,  and  announce  to  them  the  dread- 
ful news  of  impending  starvation.  *'  General  Baynes,  by  his 
carelessness,  had  allowed  Dr.  Firmin  to  make  away  with  the 
money  over  which  the  general  had  been  set  as  sentinel.  Philip 
might  recover  from  the  trustee,  and  no  doubt  would.  Perhaps 
he  would  not  press  his  claim  V  My  dear,  what  can  you  expect 
from  the  son  of  such  a  father?  Depend  on  it,  Charlotte,  no 
good  fruit  can  come  from  a  stock  like  that.  The  son  is  a  bad  one, 
the  father  is  a  bad  one,  and  your  father,  poor  dear  eouL  is  not  fit 
to  be  trusted  to  walk  the  street  without  some  one  to  keep  him 
from  tumbling.  Why  did  I  allow  him  to  go  to  town  without  me  ? 
We  wei-e  quartered  at  Colchester  then  :  and  I  could  not  more 
on  account  of  your  brother  M'Grigor.  4  Baynes,'  I  said  to  your 
father,,  '"as  sure  as  I  let  you  go  away  to  town  without  me,  you 
will  come  to  mischief.'  And  go  he  did,  and  come  to  mischief  he 
did.  And  through  his  folly  I  and  my  poor  children  must  go  and 
beg  our  bread  in  the  streets — I  and  my  seven  poor,  robbed,  pen- 
niless little  ones.     Oh,  it 's  cruel,  cruel !" 

Indeed,  one  can  not  fancy  a  more  dismal  prospect  for  this 
worthy  mother  and  wife  than  to  see  her  children  without  pro- 
vision at  the  commencement  of  their  lives,  and  her  luckless  hus- 
band robbed  of  his  life's  earnings,  and  ruined  just  when  he  was 
too  old  to  work. 

What  was  to  become  of  them  ?  Now  poor  Charlotte  thought, 
with  pangs  of  a  keen  remorse,  how  idle  she  had  been,  and  how 
she  had  snubbed  her  governesses,  and  how  little  she  knew,  and 
how  badly  she  played  the  piano.  Oh,  neglected  opportunities  1 
Oh,  remorse,  now  the  time  was  past  and  irrecoverable!^  Does 
any  young  lady  read  this  who,  perchance,  ought  to  be  doing  her 
lessons  ?  "My  dear,  lay  down  the  story-book  at  once.  Go  up  to 
your  school-room,  and  practice  your  piano  for  two  hours  this  mo- 
ment, so  that  you  may  be  prepared  to  support  your  family, 
should  ruin  in  any  base  fall  upon  you.  A  great  girl  of  sixteen,  I 
pity  Charlotte  Baynes*  feelings  of  anguish.  She  can't  write  a 
verv  jrood  hand  ;  she  o?,\\  fiearce.lv  answer  any  question  to  speak 


176  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

of  in  any  educational  books;  her  piano-forte  playing  is  very,  very 
so-so  indeed.  If  she  is  to  go  out  and  get  a  living  for  the  family, 
how,  in  the  name  of  goodness,  is  she.  to  set  about  it  ?  What,  are 
they  to  do  with  the  boys,  and  the  money  that  has  been  put  away 
for  Ochterlony  when  he  goes  to  college,  and  for  Moira's  commis- 
sion ?  "  Why,  we  can't  afford  to  keep  them  at  Dr.  Pybus', 
where  they  were  doing  so  well;  and  they  were  ever  so  much 
better  and  more  gentlemanlike  than  Colonel  Chandler's  boys ; 
and  to  lose  the  army  will  break  Moira's  heart,  it  will.  And  the 
little  ones — my  little  blue-eyed  Carrick,  and  my  darling  Jany, 
and  my  Mary,  that  I  nursed  almost  miraculously  out  of  her  scar- 
let-fever. God  help  them !  God  help  us  all !"  thkiks  the  poor 
mother.  No  wonder  that  her  nights  are  wakeful,  and  her  heart 
in  a  tumult  of  alarm  at  the  idea  of  the  impending  danger. 

And  the  father  of  the  family — the  stout  old  general  whose 
battles  and  campaigns  are  over,  who  has  come  home  to  rest  his 
war-worn  limbs,  and  make  his  peace  with  Heaven  ere  it-calls 
him  away — what  must  be  his  feelings  when  he  thinks  that  he  has 
been  entrapped  by  a  villain  into  committing  an  imprudence, 
which  makes  his  children  penniless  and  himself  dishonored  and 
a  beggar  V  When  lie  found  what  Dr.  Firmin  had  done,  and  how 
lie  had  been  cheated,  he  went  away,  aghast,  to  his  lawyer,  who 
could  give  him  no  help.  Philip's  mother's  trustee  was  answer- 
able to  Philip  for  his  property.  It  had  been  stolen  through 
B£ynes'  own  carelessness,  and  the  law  bound  him  to  replace  it. 
General  Baynes'  man  pf  business  could  not  help  him  out  of  his 
perplexity  at  all ;  and  I  hope  my  worthy  reader  is  not  going  to 
be  too  angry  with  the  general  for  what  I  own  he  did.  You  never 
would,  my  dear  sir,  I  know.  No  power  on  earth  would  induce 
you  to  depart  one  inch  from  the  path  of  rectitude;  or,  having 
done  an  act  of  imprudence,  to  shrink  from  bearing  the  conse- 
quence. The  long  and  short  of  the  matter  is,  that  poor  Baynes 
and  his  wife,  after  holding  agitated,  stealthy  councils  together — 
after  believing  that  every  strange  face  they  saw  was  a  bailiff's 
coming  to  arrest  them  on  Philip's  account — after  horrible  days 
of  remorse,  misery,  guilt — I  say,  the  long  and  the  short  of  the 
matter  was,  that  these  poor  people  determined  to  run  away. 
They  would  go  and  hide  themselves  anywhere — in  an  impenetra- 
ble pine-forest  in  Norway — up  an  inaccessible  mountain  in  Switz- 
erland. They  would  change  their  names;  dye  their  mustaches 
and  honest  old  white  hair;  fly  with  their- little  ones  away,  away, 
out  of  the  reach  of  law' and  Philip;  and  the  first  flight  lands 
them  on  Boulogne  Pier,  and  there  is  Mr.  Philip  holding  out  his 
hand. and  actually  eying  them  as  they  got  out  of  the  steamer  ! 
Eying  them  V  It  is  the  eye  of  Heaven  that  is  on  those  criminals. 
Holding  out  his  hand  to  them  ?  It  is  the  hand  of  Fate  that  is  on 
their  wretched  shoulders.  No  wonder  they  shuddered  and  turn- 
ed pale.     That  which  I  took  for  sea-sickness,  I  am  sorrv  to  say, 


ON    IIIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  177 

was  a  guilty  conscience;  anri  where  is  the  steward,  my  dear 
friends,  who  can  relieve  us  of  that  ? 

As  this  party  came  staggering  out  of  the  custom-house,  poor 
Baynes  still  found  Philip's"  hand  stretched  out  to  catch  hold  of 
him,  and  saluted  him  with  a  ghastly  cordiality.  "  These  are  your 
children,  general,  and  this  is  Mrs.  Baynes  ?"  says  Philip,  smiling, 
and  taking  off  his  hat. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  'm  Mrs.  General  Baynes  !"  says  the  poor  woman ; 
"  and  these  are  the  children — yes,  yes.  Charlotte,  this  is  Mr. 
Firmin,  of  whom  you  have  heard  us  speak ;  and  these  are  my 
boys,  Moira  and  Ochterlony." 

41 1  have  had  the  honor  of  meeting  General  Baynes  at  Old  Parr 
street.  Don't  you  remember,  sir?"  says  Mr.  Pendennis,  with 
great  affability,  to  the  general. 

"  What,  another  who  knows  me  ?"  I  dare  say  the  poor  wretch 
thinks;  and  glances  of  a  dreadful  meaning  pass  between  the 
guilty  wife  and  the  guilty  husband. 

"  You  are  going  to  stay  at  any  hotel  ?" 

"  Hotel  des  Bains  !"  "  Hdtel  du  Nord  !"  "  Hotel  d'Angle- 
terre !"  here  cry  twenty  commissioners  in  a  breath. 

"  Hotel  1  Oh,  yes  !  That  is,  we  have  not  made  up  our  minds 
whether  we  shall  go  on  to-night  or  whether  we  shall  stay,"  say 
those  guilty  ones,  looking  at  one  another,  and  then  down  to  the 
ground;  on  which  one  of  the  children,  with  a  roar,  says — 

"  Oh,  ma,  what  a  story  t  You  said  you  'd  stay  to-night ;  and  I 
was  so  sick  in  the  beastly  boat;  and  I  won't  travel  any  more  I" 
and  tears  choke  his  artless  utterance.  "And  you  said  Bang  to 
the  man  who  took  your  keys;  you  know  you  did,"  resumes  the 
innocent,  as  soon  as  he  can  gasp  a  further  remark. 

"  Who  told  you  to  speak  ?"  cried  mamma,  giving  the  boy  a 
6hake. 

"  This  is  the  way  to  the  Hotel  des  Bains,"  says  Philip,  making 
Miss  Baynes  another  of  his  best  bows.  And  Miss  Baynes  makes 
a  courtesy,  and  her  eyes  look  up  at  the  handsome  .young  man — 
large  brown  honest  eyes  in  a  cbuiely  round  face,  on  each  side  of 
which  depend  two  straight  wisps  of  brown  hair  that  were  ringlets 
when  they  left  Folkestone  a  few  hours  since. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  look  at  those  women  with  the  short  petticoats ! 
and  wooden  shoes,  by  George !  Oh,  it 's  jolly,  ain't  it  ?"  cries  one 
young  gentleman. 

"  By  George,  there  's  a  man  with  ear-rings  on !  There  is, 
Ocky,  upon  my  word !"  calls  out  another.  And  the  elder  boy, 
turning  round  to  his  father,  points*  to  some  soldiers.  "  Did  you 
ever  see  such  little  beggars  ?"  he  says,  tossing  his  head  up. 
"  They  would  n't  take  such  fellows  into  our  line." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  tired,  thank  you,"  says  Charlotte.     "  I  am 
customed  to  carry  him."     I  forgot  to  say  that  the  young  lady  1 
one  of  the  children  asleep  on  her  shoulder,  and  another  was  t 
16 


178  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

dlin"-  at  her  side,  holding  by  bis  sister's  dress,  and  admiring  Mr. 
Firmin's  wfciekers,  that  flamed  and  curled  very  luminously  and 
gloriously,  like  to  tbe  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 
C  "  I  am  very  glad  we  met,  sir,"  says  Philip,  in  the  most  friendly 
manner,  taking  leave  of  the  general  at  the  gate  of  his  hotel.  "  I 
hope  you  won't  go  ■atvay  to-morrow,  and  that  I  may  come  and 
.  pay  my  respects  to  Mrs.' Baynes."  Again  he  salutes  that  lady 
with  a  coup  de  chapeau.  Again  he  hows  to  Miss  Baynes.  She 
makes  a  pretty  courtesy  enough,  considering  that  she  has  a  baby 
asleep  on  her  shoulder.  And  they  enter  the  hotel,  tbe  excellent 
Marie  marshalling  them  to  fitting  apartments,  where  some  of  them, 
I  have  no  doubt,  will  sleep  very  soundly.  How  much  ntbre  com- 
fortably might  poor  Baynes  and  his  wife  have  slept  had  they 
known  what  were  Philip's  feelings  regarding  them! 

We  both  admired  Charlotte,  the  tall  girl  who  carried  her  little 
brother,  and  around  whom  the  others  clung.  And  we  spoke 
loudly  in  Miss  Charlotte's  praises  to  Mrs  Pendennis,  when  we 
joined  that  lady  at  dinner.  In  the  praise  of  Mrs.  Baynes  we  had 
not  a  great  deal  to  say,  further  than  that  she  seemed  to  take  com- 
mand of  the  whole  expedition,  including  the  general  officer,  her 
husband. 

Though  Marie's  beds  at  the  Hotel  des  Bains  arc  as  comfortable 
as  any  beds  in  Europe,  you  see  that  admirable  chambermaid  can 
not  lay  out  a  clean,  easy  conscience  upon  the  clean,  fragrant 
pillow-case  :  and  General  and  Mrs.  Baynes  owned,  in  .after-days, 
that  one  of  the  most  dreadful  nights  they  ever  passed  was  that  of 
their  first  landing  in  France.  What  refugee  from  his  country 
can  fly  from  himself?  Railways  were  not  as  yet  in  that  part  of 
France.  The  general  was  too  poor  to  fly  with  a  couple  of  private 
carriages,  which  he  must  have  had" for  his  family  of  "noof,"  his 
governess,  and  two  servants.  *  Encumbered  with  such  a  train,  his 
enemy  would  speedily  have  pursued  and  overtaken  him.  It  is  a 
fact  that,  immediately  after  landing  at  his  hotel,  he  and  his  com- 
manding officer  went  off"  to  see  when  they  could  get  places  for — 
never  mind  the  name  of  the  place  where  they  really  thought  of 
taking  refuge.  They  never  told,  but  Mrs.  General  Baynes  had 
a  sister,  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter  (married  to  Mac W.  of  the  Ben- 
gal Cavalry),  and  the  sisters  loved  each  other  very  affectionately, 
especially  by  letter,  for  it  must  be  owned  that  they  quarrelled 
frightfully  when  together;  and  Mrs.  MacWhirter  never  could 
bear  that  her  younger  sister  should  be  taken  out  to  dinner  before 
her,  because  she  was  married  to  a  superior  officer.  Well,  their 
little  differences  were  forgotten  when  the  two  ladies  were  apart. 
The  sisters  wrote  to  each  other  prodigious  long  letters,  in  which 
household  affairs,  the  children's  puerile  diseases,  the  relative 
prices  of  veal,  eggs,  chickens,  the  rent  of  lodging  and  houses  in 
various  places,  were  fully  discussed.  And  as  Mrs.  Baynes  showed 
a  surprising  knowledge  of  Tours,  the  markets,  rents,  clergymen, 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  191 

Come  away  from  those  foolish  young  people — they  don't  want 
us ;  and  dreary  as  their  farce  is,  and  tautological  as  their  twaddle, 
you  may  be  sure  it.  amuses  them,  and  that  they  are  happy  enough 
without  us.  Happy?  Is  there  any  happiness  like  it,  pray? 
Was  it  not  rapture  to  watch  the  messenger,  to  seize  the  note, 
and  fee  the  bearer  ? — to  retire  out,  of  sight  of  all  prying  eyes  and 
read:  "Dearest!  Mamma's  cold  is  better  this. morning.  The 
Joneses  came  to  tea,  and  Julia  sang.  I  did  not  enjoy  it,  as  my 
dear  was  at  his  horrid  dinner,  where  I  hope  he  amused  himself. 
Send  me  a  word  by  Buttles,  who  brings  this,  if  only  to  say  you 
are  your  Louisa's  own,  own,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  That  used  to  be 
the  kind  of  thing.  In  such  coy  lines  artless  Innocence  used  to 
whisper  its  little  vows.  So  she  used  to  smile;  so  she  used  to 
warble ;  so  she  used  to  prattle.  Young  people,  at  present  en- 
gaged in  the  pretty  sport,  be  assured  your  middle-aged  parents 
have  played  the  game,  and  remember  the  rules  of  it.  Yes, 
under  papa's  bow-window  of  a  waistcoat  is  a  heart  which  took 
very  violent  exercise  when  that  waist  was  slim.  Now  he  sits 
tranquilly  in  his  tent,  and  watches  the  lads  going  in  for  their 
innings.  Why,  look  at  grandmamma  in  her  spectacles  reading 
that,  sermon.  In  her  old  heart  there  is  a  corner  as  romantic  still 
as  when  she  used  to  read  the  "  Wild  Irish  Girl"  or  the  "  Scottish 
Chiefs"  in  the  days  of  her  misshood.  And  as  for  your  grand- 
father, my  dears,  to  see  him  now  you  would:  little  suppose  that 
that  calm,  polished,  dear  old  gentleman  was  once  as  wild — as 
wild  as  Orson ....  Under  my  windows,  as  I  write,  there  passes  an 
itinerant  flower  merchant.  He  has  his  roses  and  geraniums  on  a 
cart  drawn  by  a  quadruped — a  little  long-eared  quadruped, 
which  lifts  up  its  voice,  and  sings  after  its  manner.  When  I  was 
young,  donkeys  used  to  bray  precisely  in  the  same  way ;  and 
others  will  heehaw  so  when  we  are  silent  and  our  ears  hear  no 
more. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

DRUM  IsVs  SO  WOHL  MIR  IN  DER  WELT. 

Our  new  friends  lived  for  a  while  contentedly  enough  at  Bou- 
logne, where  they  found  comrades  and  acquaintances  gathered 
together  from  those  many  regions  which  they  had  visited  in  the 
course  of  their  military  career.  Mrs>  Baynes,  out  of  the  field,  was 
the  commanding  officer  over  th$  general.  She-  ordered  his 
clothes  for  him,  tied  his  neckcloth  into  a  neat  bow,  and,  on  tea- 
party  evenings,  pinned  his  brooch  into  his  shirt-frill.  She  gave 
him  to  understand  when  he  had  had  enough  to  eat  or  drink  at 
dinner,  and  explained,  with  great  frankness,  how  this  or  that 
dish  did  not  agree  with  him.     If  he  was  disposed  to  exceed,  she 


192  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   FHILIP 

would  call  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Remember,  general,  what  you 
took  this  morning !"  Knowing  his  constitution,  as  she  said,  she 
knew  the  remedies  which  were  necessary  for  her  husband,  and 
administered  them  to  him  with  great  liberality.  Resistance  was 
impossible,  as  the  veteran  officer  acknowledged.  "  The  boys 
have  fought  about  the  medicine  since  we  came  home,"  he  con- 
fessed, "  but  she  has  me  under  her  thumb,  by  George.  She  really 
is  a  magnificent  physician  now.  She  has  got  some  invaluable 
prescriptions,  and  in  India  she  used  to  doctor  the  whole  station." 
She  would  have  taken  the  present  writer's  little  household  under 
her  care,  and  proposed  several  remedies  for  my  children,  until 
their  alarmed  mother  was  obliged  to  keep  them  out  of  her  sight. 
I  am  not  saying  this  was  an  agreeable  woman.  Her  voice  was 
loud  and  harsh.  The  anecdotes  which  she  was  for  ever  narrating 
related  to  military  personages  in  foreign  countries  with  whom  I  was 
unacquainted,  and  whose  history  failed  to  interest  me.  She  took 
her  wine  with  much  spirit  while  engaged  in  this  prattle.  I  have 
heard  talk  not  less  foolish  in  much  finer  company,  and  known 
people  delighted  to  listen  to  anecdotes  of  the  duchess  and  the 
marchioness  who  would  yawn  over  the  history  of  Captain  Jones' 
quarrels  with  his  lady,  or  Mrs.  Major  Wolfe's  monstrous.- flirta- 
tions with  young  Ensign  Kyd.  My  wife,  with  the  mischievous- 
ness  of  her  sex,  would  mimic  the  Baynes'  conversation  very 
drolly,  but  always  insisted  that  she  was  not  more  really  vulgar 
than  many  much  greater  persons. 

For  all  this,  Mrs.  General  Baynes  did  not  hesitate  to  declare 
that  we  were  "  stuck-up"  people  ;  and  from  the  very  first  setting 
eyes  on  us  she  declared  that  she  viewed  us  with  a  constant  dark- 
ling suspicion.  Mrs.  P.  was  a  harmless,  washed-out  creature,  with 
nothing  in  her.  As  for  that  high  and  mighty  Mr.  P.  and  his  airs, 
she  would  be  glad  to  know  whether  the  wife  of  a  British  general 
officer  who  had  seen  service  in  every  part  of  the  globe,  and  met 
the  most  distinguished  governors,  generals,  and  their  ladies,  sev- 
eral of  whom -were  noblemen — she  would  be  glad  to  know  whether 
such  people  were  not  good  enough  for,  etc.,  etc.  Who  has  not 
met  with  these  difficulties  in  life,  and  who  can  escape  them  ? 
"Hang  it,  sir,"  Phil  would  say,  twirling  the  "red  mustaches,  "I 
like  to  be  hated  by  some  fellows ;"  and  it  must  be  owned  that 
Mr.  Philip  got  what  he  liked.  I  suppose  Mr.  Philip's  friend  and 
biographer  had  something  of  the  same  feeling.  At  any  rate,  in 
regard  of  this  lady  the  hypocrisy  of  politeness  was  very  hard  to 
keep  up ;  wanting  us  for  reasons  of  her  own,  she  covered  the 
dagger  with  which  she  would  have  stabbed  us :  but  we  knew  it 
was  there  clenched  in  her  skinny  hand  in  her  meagre  pocket. 
She  would  pay  us  the  most  fulsome  compliments  with  anger 
raging  out  of  her  eyes — a  little  hate-bearing  woman,  envious, 
malicious,  but  loving  her  cubs,  and  nursing  them,  and  clutching 
them  in  her  lean  arms  with  a  jealous  strain.     It  was  "  Good-by, 


ON   HIS    WAY    THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  103 

darling !  I  shall  leave  you  here  with  your  friends.  Oh,  how 
kind  you  are  to  her,  Mrs.  Pendenuis!  How  can  I  ever  thank 
you,  and  Mr.  P.  I  am  sure ;"  and  she  looked  as  if  she  could  poison 
both  of  us,  as  she  went  away,  courtesying  and  darting  dreary 
parting  smiles. 

The  lady  had  an  intimate  friend  and  companion  in  arms,  Mrs. 
Colonel  Bunch,  in  fact,  of  the — the  Bengal  Cavalry,  who  was 
now  in  Europe  with  Bunch  and  their  children,  who  were  resid- 
ing at   Paris  for  the  young  folks'  education.     At  first,  as  we 
have  heard,  Mrs.  Baylies'  predilections  had  been  all  for  Tours, 
where  her  sister  was  living,  and  where  lodgings  were  cheap  and 
food  reasonable  in  proportion.     But  Bunch  happening  to  pass 
through  Boulogne  on  his  wav  to  his  wife  at  Paris,  and  meeting 
his  old  comrade,  gave  General  Baynes  such  an  account  of  the 
cheapness  and  pleasures  of  the  French  capital  as  to  induce  the 
general  to  think  of  bending  his  steps  thither.     Mrs.  Baynes 
would  not  hear  of  such  a  plan.     She  was  all  for  her  dear  sister 
and  Tours;  but  when,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  Colonel 
Bunch  described  a 'ball  at  the  Tuileries,  where  he  and  Mrs. 
B.  had  been  received  with  the  most  flattering  politeness  by 
the  royal   family,  it   was   remarked   that  Mrs.  Baynes'   mind 
underwent   a   change.     When  Bunch   went   on  to   aver  that 
the  balls  at  Government  House  at  Calcutta  were  nothing  com- 
pared to  those  at  the  Tuileries  or  the  Prefecture  of  the  Seine  ; 
that  the  English  were  invited  and  respected  everywhere  ;  that 
the    embassador    was    most    hospitable ;    that    the   clergymen 
were    admirable ;    and   that  at   their  boarding-house,  kept   by 
Madame  la  Generate  Baronne  de  Smolensk,  at  the  Petit   Cha- 
teau d'Espagne,  Avenue  de  Valmy,  Champs  Elysees,  they  had 
balls  twice  a  month,  the  most  comfortable  apartments,  the  most 
choice  society,  and  every  comfort  and  luxury  at  so  many  francs 
per  month,  with  an  allowance  for  children — I  say,  Mrs.  Baynes 
was  very  greatly  moved.     "  It  is  not,"  she  said,  "  in  consequence 
of  the  balls  at  the  embassador's  or  the  Tuileries,  for  I  am  an  old 
woman  ;  and  in  spite  of  what  you  say,  colonel,  I  can't  fancy,  af- 
ter Government   House,  anything   more   magnificent    in   any 
French  palace.     It  is  not  for  ??ie,  goodness  knows,  I  speak  :  but 
the  children  should  have  education,  and  my  Charlotte  an  entree 
into  the  world  ;   and  what  you  say  of  the  invaluable  clergyman, 

Mr.  X ,  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  all  night;  but,  above  all, 

above  all,  of  the  chances  of  education  for  my  darlings.  Nothing 
should  give  way  to  that — nothing  !"  On  this  a  long  and  delight- 
ful conversation  and  calculation  took  place.  Bunch  produced 
his  bills  at  the  Baroness  de  Smolensk's.  The  two  gentlemen 
jotted  up  accounts,  and  made  calculations  all  through  the  even- 
ing. It  was  hard  even  for  Mrs.  Baynes  to  force  the  figures  into 
such  a  shape  as  to  make  them  accord  with  the  general's  income ; 
but,  driven  awav  bv  one  calculation  after  another,  she  returned 
17 


194  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

again  and  again  to  the  charge,  until  she  overcame  the  stubborn 
arithmetical  difficulties,  and  the  pounds,  shillings,  and  psnce  lay- 
prostrate  before  her.  They  could  save  upon  this  point ;  they 
could  screw  upon  that ;  they  must  make  a  sacrifice  to  educate 
the  children.  "  Sarah  Bunch  and  her  girls  go  to. Court,  indeed  ! 
Why  should  n't  mine  go  ?"  she  asked.  On  which  her  general 
said,  "  By  George,  Eliza,  that 's  the  point  you  are  thinking  of." 
On  which  Eliza" said,  "No,"  and  repeated  "  No"  a  score  of  times, 
growing  more  angry  as  she  uttered  each  denial.  And  she  de- 
clared before  Heaven  she  did  not  want  to  go  to  any  Court.  Had 
*  she  not  refused  to  be  presented  at  Lome,  though  Mrs.  Colonel 
Flack  went,  because  she  did  not  choose  to  go  to  the  wicked  ex- 
pense of  a  train  ?  And  it  was  base  of  the  general,  base  and 
mean  of  him  to  say  so.  And  there  was  a  fine  scene,  as  I  am 
given  to  understand ;  not  that  I  was  present  at  this  family  fight : 
but  my  informant  was  Mr.  Firmin  ;  and  Mr.  Firmin  had  his  in- 
formation from  a  little  person  who,  about  this  time,  had  got  to 
prattle  out  all  the  secrets  of  her  young  heart  to  him  ;  who  would 
have  jumped  off  the  pier-head  with  her  hand  in  his  if  he  had 
said  "  Come,"  without  his  hand  if  he  had  said  "  Go  :"  a  little 
person  whose  whole  life  had  been  changed — changed  for  a 
month  past — changed  in  one  minute,  that  minute  when  she  saw 
Philip's  fiery  whiskers  and  heard  his  great  big  voice  saluting 
her  father  among  the  commissioners  on  the  quai  before  the  cus- 
tom-house. 

Tours  was,  at  any  rate,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  further  ofF 
than  Paris  from — from  a  city  where  a  young  gentleman  lived  in 
whom  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes  felt  an  interest ;  hence,  I  suppose, 
arose  her  delight  that  her  parents  had  determined  upron  taking  up 
their  residence  in  the  larger  and  nearer  city.  Besides,  she  owned, 
in  the  course  of  her  artless  confidences  to  my  wife,  that,  when 
together,  mamma  and  aunt  MacWhirter  quarrelled  unceasingly ; 
and  had  once  caused  the  old  boys,  the  major  and  the  general,  to 
call  each  other  out.  She  preferred,  then,  to  live  away  from  aunt 
Mac.  She  had  never  had  such  a  friend  as  Laura,  never.  She 
had  never  been  so  happy  as  at  Boulonge,  never.  She  should 
always  love  everybody  in  our  house,  that  she  should,  for  ever  and 
ever— and  so  forth,  and.  so  forth.  The  ladies  meet :  cling  to- 
gether ;  osculations  are  carried  round  the  whole  family  circle, 
from  our  wondering  eldest  boy,  who  cries,  "  I  say,  hullo  !  what 
are  you  kissing  me  so  about  ?"  to  darling  baby,  crowing  and 
sputtering  unconscious  in  the  rapturous  young  girl's  embraces. 
1  tell  you,  these  two  women  were  making  fools  of  themselves, 
and  they  were  burning  with  enthusiasm  for  the  "  preserver  "  of 
the  Baynes  family,  as  they  called  that  big  fellow  vonder,  whose 
biographer  I  have  aspired  to  be.  The  lazy  rogue  'lay  basking  in 
the  glorious  warmth  and  sunshine  of  early  love.  He  would 
stretch  his  big  limbs  out  in  our  garden ;  pour  out  his  feelings 


ON   HIS   WAY    THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  199 

his  hand  eagerly,  evidently  expecting  that  I  was  about  to  tip  him 
with  a  five-franc  piece  or  some  such  coin.  Fouette,  cocker  !  The 
horses  squeal.  The  huge  machine  jingles  over  the  road  and 
rattles  down  the  (street.  '  Farewell,  pretty  Charlotte,  with  your 
sweet  facevand  sweet  voice,  and  kind  eyes!  But  why,  pray,  is  Mr. 
Philip  Firmin  not  here  to  say  farewell  too  ? 

Before  the  diligence  got  under  way,  the  Baynes  boys  had 
fought  and  quarrelled,  and  wanted  to  mount  on  the  imperial  or 
cabriolet  of  the  carriage,  where  there  was  only  one  passenger,  as 
yet.  But  the  conductor  called  the  lads  off,  saying  that  the  re- 
maining place  was  engaged  by  a  gentleman,  whom  they  were  to 
take  up  on  the  road.  And  who  should  this  turn  out  to  be  ?  Just 
outside  the  town  a  man  springs  up  to  the  imperial  ;  his  light  lug- 
gage, it  appears,  was  on  the  coach  already,  and  that  luggage  be- 
longed to  Philip  Firnvn.  Ah,  monsieur !  and  that  was  the  reason, 
was  it,  why  they  were  so  merry  yesterday — the  parting  day? 
Because  they  were  not  going  to  part  just  then.  Because,  when 
the  time  of  execution  drew  near,  they  had  managed  to  smuggle 
a  little  reprieve  !  Upon  my  conscience,  I  never  heard  of  such  im- 
prudence in  the  whole  course  of  my  life  !  Why,  it  is  starvation 
— certainly  misery  to  one  and  the  other.  "I  don't  like  to  med- 
dle in  other  people's  affairs,"  I  say  to  my  wife;  "  but  I  have  no 
patience  with  such  folly,  or  with  myself  for  not  speaking  to  Gen- 
eral Baynes  on  the  subject.     I  shall  write  to  the  general." 

"  Mydear,  the  general  knows  all  about  it,"  says  Charlotte's, 
Philip's  (in  my  opinion)  most  injudicious  friend.  "  We  have 
talked  about  it,  and,  like  a  man  of  sense,  the  general  makes  light 
of  it.  'Young  folks  will  be  young  folks,' "he  says;  'and,  by 
George  !  ma'am,  when  I  married— I  should  say,  when  Mrs.  B. 
ordered  me  to  marry  her — she  had  nothing,  and  I  but  my  cap- 
tain's pay.  People  get  on,  somehow."  Better  for  a  young  man 
to  marry,  and  keep  out  of  idleness  and  mischief;  and,  I  promise 
you,  the  chap  who  marries  my  girl  gets  a  treasure.  I  like  the 
boy  for  the  sake  of  my  old  friend  Phil  Ringwood.  I  don't  see 
that  the  fellows  with  "the  rich  wives  are  much  the  happier,  or 
that  men  should  wait  to  marry  until  they  are  gouty  old  rakes.' '; 
And,  it  appears,  the  general  instanced  several  officers  of  his  own 
acquaintanee  ;  some  of  whom  had  married  when  they  were 
young  and  poor  ;  some  who  had  married  when  they  were  old  and 
sulky  ;  some  who  had  never  married  at  all.  And  he  mentioned 
his  comrade,  my  own  uncle,,  the  late  Major  Pendennis,  whom  he 
called  a  selfish  old  creature,  and  hinted  that  the  major  had  jilted 
some  lady  in  early  life,  whom  he  would  have  done  much  better 
to  marry. 

And  so  Philip  is  actually  gone  after  his  charmer,  and  is  piu-su- 
ing  her  summd  diligeniia?  The  Baynes  family  has  allowed  this 
penniless  young  law  student  to  make  love  to  their  daughter,  to 
accompany  them  to  Paris,  to  appear  as  the  almost  recognized  son 


200  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

of  the  house.  "  Other  people,  when  they  were  young,  wanted 
to  make  imprudent  marriages,"  says  my  wife  (as  if  that  wretched 
tit  quoque  were  any  answer  to  my  remark  !).  "  This  penniless  law 
student  might  have  a  good  sum  of  money  if  he  chose ,to  press  the 
Baynes  family  to  pay  him  what,  after  all,  they  owe  him."  And 
so  poor  little  Charlotte  was  to  be  her  father's  ramsom !  To  be 
sure,  little  Charlotte  did  not  object  to  offer  herself  up  in  payment 
of  her  papa's  debt !  And  though  I  objected  as  a  moral"  man,  and 
a  prudent  man,  and  a  father  of  a  family,  I  could  not  be  very  se- 
riously angry.  I  am  secretly  of  the  disposition  of  the  time-hon- 
ored pare  defamille  in  the  comedies,  the  irascible  old  gentleman 
in  the  crop  wig  and  George-the- Second  coat,  who  is  always  men- 
acing "  Tom  the  young  dog  "  with  his  cane.  When  the  deed  is 
done,  and  Miranda  (the  little  sly-boots  !)  falls  before  my  square- 
toes  and  shoe-buckles,  and  Tom  the  young  dog  kneels  before  me 
in  his  white  ducks,  and  they  cry  out  in  a  pretty  chorus,  "  For- 
give us,  grandpapa  !"  I  say,  "  Well,  you  rogue,  boys  will  be  boys. 
Take  her,  sirrah !  Be  happy  with  her ;  and,  hark  ye !  in  this 
pocket-book  you  will  find  ten  thousand,"  etc.,  etc.  You  all  know 
the  story:  I  can  not  help  liking  it,  however  old  it  may  be.  In 
love,  somehow,  one  is  pleased  that  young  people  should  dare  a 
little.  Was  not  Bessy  Eldon  famous  as  an  economist,  and  Lord 
Eldon  celebrated  for  wisdom  and  caution  ?  and  did  not  John 
Scott  marry  Elizabeth  Surtees  when  they  had  scarcely  two-pence 
a  year  between  them  ?  "  Of  course,  my  dear,"  I  say  to  the  part- 
ner of  my  existence,  "  now  this  madcap  fellow  is  utterly  ruined, 
now  is  the  very  time  he  ought  to  marry.  The  accepted  doctrine 
is,  that  a  man -should  spend  his  own  fortune,  then  his  wife's  fort- 
une, and  then  he  may  begin  to  get  on  at  the  bar.  Philip  has  a 
hundred  pounds,  let  us  say  ;  Charlotte  has  nothing  ;  so  that  in 
about  six  weeks  we  may  look  to  hear  of  Philip  being  in  success- 
ful practice — " 

"  Successful  nonsense  !"  cries  the  lady.  "  Don't  go  on  like  a 
cold-blooded  calculating  machine !  You  don't  believe  a  word  of 
what  you  say,  and  a  more  imprudent  person  never  lived  than 
you  yourself  were  as  a  young  man."  This  was  departing  from 
the  question,  which  women  will  do.  "  Nonsense  !"  again  says 
my  romantic  being  of  a  partner-of-existence.  "  Don'ftell  me, 
sir.  They  will  be  provided  for !  Are  we  to  be  for  ever  taking 
care  of  the  morrow,  and  not  trusting  that  we  shall  be  cared  for? 
You  may  call  your  way  of  thinking  prudence.  I  call  it  sinful 
worldliness,  sir."  When  my  life-partner  speaks  in  a  certain 
strain,  I  know  that  remonstrance  is  useless  and  argument  un- 
availing, and  I  generally  resort  to  cowardly  subterfuges,  and 
sneak  out  of  the  conversation  by  a  pun,  a  side  joke,  or  some 
other  flippancy.  Besides,  in  this  case,  though  I  argue  against 
my  wife,  my  sympathy  is  on  her  side.     I  know  Mr.  Philip  is  im- 


ON   HIS    WAY   TI1R0UGH    THE    WORLD.  201 

prudent  and  headstrong,  but  I  should  like  him  to  succeed  and  be 
happy.     I  own  he  is  a  scapegrace,  but  I  wish  him  well. 

So,  just  as  the  diligence  of  Laffitte  and  Caillard  is  clearing  out 
of  Boulogne  town,  the  conductor  causes  the  carriage  to  stop,  and 
a  young  fellow  has  mounted  up  on  the  roof  in  a  twinkling;  and 
the  postilion  says  "  Hi !"  to  his  horses,  and  away  those  squealing 
grays  go  clattering.  And  a  young  lady,  happening  to  look  out 
of  one  of  the  windows  of  the  intcrieur,  has  perfectly  recognized 
the  young  gentleman  who  leaped  up  to  the  roof  so  nimbly ;  and 
the  two  boys  who  Avere  in  the  rotonde  would  have  recognized  the 
gentleman,  but  that  they  were  already  eating  the  sandwiched 
which  my  wife  had  provided.  And  so  the  diligence  goes  on  until 
it  reaches  that  hill  where  the  girls  used  to  come  and  offer  to  sell 
yOu  apples ;  and  some  of  the  passengers  descend  and  walk,  and 
the  tall  young  man  on  the  roof  jumps  down,  and  approaches  the 
party  in  the  interior,  and  a  young  lady  cries  out,  "  La  !"  and  her 
mamma  looks  impenetrably  grave,  and  not  in  the  least,  surprised; 
and  her  father  gives  a  wink  of  one  eye  and  says,  "  It's  him,  is 
it,  by  George !"  and  the  two  boys  coming  out  of  the  rotonde, 
their  mouths  full  of  sandwich,  cry  out,  a  Hullo  !  It 's  Mr.  Fir- 
min." 

"  How  do  you  do,  ladies  ?"  he  says,  blushing  as  red  as  an  ap- 
ple, and  his  heart  thumping — but  that  may  be  from  walking  up 
hill.  And  he  puts  a  hand  toward  the  carriage-window,  and  a 
little  hand  comes  out  and  lights  on  his.  And  Mrs.  General 
Baynes,  who  is  reading  a  religious  work,  looks  up  and  says, 
"  Oh  !  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Firmin  ?"  And  this  is  the  remarkable 
dialogue  that  takes  place.  It  is  not  very  witty  ;  but  Philip's 
tone  sends  a  rapture  into  one  young  heart ;  and  when  he  is  ab- 
sent, and  has  climbed  up  to  his  place  in  the  cabriolet,  -the  kick  of 
his  boots  on  the  roof  gives  the  said  young  heart  inexpressible  com- 
fort and  consolation.  Shine,  stars  and  moon.  Shriek,  gray- 
horses,  through  the  calm  night.  Snore  sweetly,  papa  and  mam- 
ma, in  your  corners,  with  }-our  pocket-handkerchiefs  tied  round 
your  old  fronts  !  I  suppose,  under  all  the  stars  of  heaven,  there 
is  nobody  more  happy  than  that  child  in  that  carriage — that 
wakeful  girl,  in  sweet  maiden  meditation — who  has  given  her 
heart  to  the  keeping  of  the  champion  who  is  so  near  her.  Has 
he  not  been  always  their  champion  and  preserver?  Don't  they 
owe  to  his  generosity  everything  in  life?  One  of  the  little 
sisters  wakes  wildly  and  cries  in  the  night,  and  Charlotte  takes 
the  child  into  her  arms  and  soothes  her.  "  Hush,  dear  !  He  's 
there — he's  there,"  she  whispers,  as  she  bends  over  the  child. 
Nothing  wrong  can  happen  with  him  there,  she  feels.  If  the  rob- 
bers were  to  spring  out  from  yonder  dark  pines,  why,  he  would 
jump  down,  and  they  would  all  fly  before  him  !  The  carriage 
rolls  on  through  sleeping  villages,  and  as  the  old  team  retires  all 
in  a  halg  of  Btnoke,  and  the  fresh  "horses  come  clattering  up  to 
18 


202  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

their  pole,  Charlotte  sees  a  well-known  white  face  in  the  gleam 
of  the  carriage  lanterns.  Through  the  long  avenues  the  great 
vehicle  rolls  on  its  course.  Tin;  dawn  peers  over  the  poplars : 
the  stars  quiver  out  of  sight :  the  sun  is  up  in  the  sky,  and  the 
heaven  is  all  in  a  flame.  The  night  is  over — the  night  of  nights. 
In  all  the  round  world,  whether  lighted  by  stars  or  sunshine, 
there  were  not  two  people  more  happy  than  these  had  been. 

A  very  short  time  afterward,  at  the  end  of  October,  our  own 
little  sea-side  sojourn  came  to  an  end.  That  astounding  bill  for 
broken  glass,  chairs,  crockery,  was  paid.  The  London  steamer 
takes  us  all  on  board  on  a  beautiful,  sunny  autumn  evening,  and 
lands  us  at  the  Custom-house  quay  in  the  midst  oT  a  deep,  dun 
fo"-,  through  which  our  cabs  have  to  work  their  way  over  greasy 
pavements,  and  bearing  two  loads  of  silent  and  terrified  children. 
Ah,  that  return, .if  but  after  a  fortnight's  absence  and  holiday  ! 
Oh,  that  heap  of  letters  hying  in  a  ghastly  pile,  and  yet  so  clear- 
ly visible  in  the  dim  twilight  of  master's  study  !  We  cheerfully 
breakfast  by  candle-light  for  the  first  two  days  after  my  arrival 
at  home,  and  I  have  the  pleasure  of  cutting  a  part  of  my  chin  off 
because  it  is  too  dark  to  shave  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

My  wife  can't  be  so  unfeeling  as  to  laugh  and  be  merry  because 
I  have  met  with  an  accident  which  temporarily  disfigures  me  ? 
If  the  dun  fog  makes  her  jocular,  she  has  a  very  queer  sense  of 
humor.  She  has  a  letter  before  her,  over  which  she  is  perfectly 
radiant.  When  she  is  especially  pleased  I  can  see  by  her  face 
and  a  particular  animation  and  affectionateness  toward  the  rest 
of  the  family.  On  (his  present  morning  her  face  beams  out  of 
the  fog-clouds.  The  room  is  illuminated  by  it,  and  perhaps  by. 
the  two  candles  which  are  placed  one  on  either  side  of  the  urn. 
The  fire  crackles,  and  flames,  and  spits  most  cheerfully;  and  the 
sky  without,  which  is  of  the  hue  of  brown  paper,  seems  to  set  off 
the  brightness  of  the  little  interior  scene. 

"A  letter  from  Charlotte,  papaj"  cries  one  little  girl,  with  an 
air  of  consequence.  "  And  a  letter  from  Uncle  Philip,  papa  !" 
cries  another;  "and  they  like  Paris  so  much,"  continues  the 
little  reporter. 

"  And  there,  sir,  did  n't  I  tell  you  ?"  cries  the  lady,  handing 
me  over  a  letter. 

"  Mamma  always  told  you  so,"  echoes  the  child,  with  an  im- 
portant nod  of  the  head  ;  "  and  I  should  n't  be  surprised  if  he 
were  to  be  very  rich,  should  you,  mamma  V"  continues  this  arith- 
metician. 

I  would  not  put  Miss  Charlotte's  letter  into  print  if  I  could,  for 
do  you  know  that  little  person's  grammar  was  frequently  incor- 
rect ;  there  were  three  or  four  words  spelled  wrongly ;  and  the 
letter  was  so  scored  and  marked  with  dashes  under  every  other 
word,  that  it  is  clear  to  me  her  education  had  been  neglected ; 
and  as  1  am  very  fond  of  her,  I  do  not  wish  to  make  fun  of  her. 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  203 

And  1  can't  print  Mr.  Philip's  letter,  for  I  have  n't  kept  it.  Of 
what  use  keeping  letters  ?  I  say,  Burn,  burn,  burn.  No  heart- 
pangs.  No  reproaches.  No  yesterday.  Was  it  happy,  or  mis- 
erable ?  To  think  of  it  is  always  melancholy.  Go  to  !  I  dare  say 
it  is  the  thought  of  that  fog  which  is  making  this  sentence  so  dis- 
mal. Meanwhile  there  is  Madam  Laura's  face  smiling  out  of  the 
darkness,  as  pleased  as  may  be;  and  no  wonder,  she  is  always 
happy  when  her  friends  are  so. 

Charlotte's  letter  contained  a  full  account  of  the  settlement  of 
the  Baynes  family  at  Madame  Smolensk's  boarding-house,  where 
they  appear  to  have  been  really  comfortable,  and  to  have  lived 
at  a  very  cheap  rate.  As  for  Mr.  Philip,  he  made  his  way  to  a 
crib,  to  which  his  artist  friends  had  recommended  him,  on  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain  side  of  the  water — the  Hotel  Pousin,  in 
the  street  of  that  name,  which  lies,  you  know,  between  the  Maza- 
rin  Library  and  the  Muse'e  des  Beaux  Arts.  In  former  days  my 
gentleman  had  lived  in  state  and  bounty  in  the  English  hotels 
and  quarter.  Now  he  found  himself  very  handsomely  lodged  for 
thirty  francs  per  month,  and  with  five  or  six  pounds,  he  has  re-« 
peatedly  said  since,  he  could  carry  through  the  month  very  com- 
fortably. 1  don't  say,  niy  young  traveller,  that  you  can  be  so 
lucky  nowadays.  Are  we  not  telling  a  story  of  twenty  years 
ago  I  Ay,  marry.  Ere  steam-coaches  had  begun  to  scfeam 
on  French  rails  ;  and  when  Louis  Philippe  was  king. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  is  ruined  he  must  needs  fall  in 
love,  hi  order  to  be  near  the  beloved  object,  he  must  needs  fol- 
low her  to  Paris,  and  give  up  his  promised  studies  for  the  bar  at 
home  ;  where,  to  do  him  justice,  I  believe  the  fellow  would  never 
have  done  any  good.  And  he  has  not  been  in  Paris  a  fortnight 
when  that  fantastic  jade  Fortune,  who  had  seemed  to  fly  away 
from  him,  gives  him  a  smiling  look  of  recognition,  as  if  to  say, 
"  Young  gentleman,  1  have  not  quite  done  with  you." 

The  good  fortune  was  not  much.  Do  not  suppose,  that  Philip 
suddenly  drew  a  twenty-thousand  pound  prize  in  a  lottery.  But, 
being  in  much  want  of  money,  he  suddenly  found  himself  ena- 
bled to  earn  some  in  a  way  pretty  easy  to  himself. 

In  the  first  place,  Philip  found  his  iriends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford  in  a  bewildered  state  in  the  midst  of  Paris,  in  which  city 
Mugford  would  never  consent  to  have  a  iaquais  de  place,  being 
firmly  convinced  to  the  day  of  his  death  that  he  knew  the  French 
language  quite  sufficiently  for  all  purposes  of  conversation. 
Philip,  who  had  often  visited  Paris  before,  came  to  the  aid  of  his 
friends  in  a  two-franc  dining-house,  which  he  frequented  for 
economy's  sake ;  and  they,  because  they  thought  the  banquet 
there  provided  not  only  cheap  but  most-  magnificent  and  satis- 
factory. He  interpreted  for  them,  and  rescued  them  from  their 
perplexity,  whatever  it  was.  He  treated  them  handsomely  to 
taffy  on  the  bully  vard,  as  Mugford  said  on  returning  homo  and 


20 i  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

in  recounting  the  adventure  to  me.  "  He  can't  forget  that  he 
has  been  a  swell;  and  he  does  do  things  like  a  gentleman,  that 
Firmin  does.  He  came  back  with  us  to  our  hotel — Meurice's," 
said  Mr.  Mug  ford,  "  and  who  should  drive  into  the  yard  and  step 
out  of  his  carriage  but  Lord  Ringwood — you  know  Lord  Ring- 
wood;  everybody  knows  him.  As  he  gets  out  of  his  carriage — 
'  What !  is  that  you,  Philip  ?'  says  his  lordship,  giving  the  young 
fellow  Jiis  hand.  '  Come  and  breakfast  with  me  to-morrow  morn- 
ing.'    And  away  he  goes  most  friendly." 

How  came  it  to  pass  that  Lord  Ringwood,  whose  instinct  of 
self-preservation  was  strong — who,  I  fear,  was  rather  a  selfish 
nobleman — and  who,  of  late,  as  we  have  heard,  had  given  or- 
ders to  refuse  Mr.  Philip  entrance  at  his  door — should  all  of  a 
sudden  turn  round  and  greet  the  young  man  with  cordiality  ? 
la  the  first  place,  Philip  had  never  troubled  his  lordship's  knocker 
at  all ;  and  second,  as  luck  would  have  it,  on  this  very  day  of 
their  meeting  bis  lordship  had  been  to  dine  with  that  well-known 
Parisian  resident  and  bnn  vivant,  my  Lord  Viscount  Trim,  who 
bad  been  Governor  of  the  Sago  islands  when  Colonel  Baynes 
was  there  with  his  regiment,  the  gallant  100th.  And  the  gen- 
eral and  his  old  West  India  governor  meeting  at  church,  my 
Lord  Trim  straightway  asked  General  Baynes  to  dinner,  where 
Lord  Ringwood  was  present,  along  with  other  distinguished 
company,  whom  at  present  we  need  not  particularize.  Now  it 
has  been  said  that  Philip  Ringwood,  my  lord's  brother,  and 
Captain  Baynes,  in  early  youth,  had  been  close  friends,  and  that 
the  colonel  had  died  in  the  captain's  arms.  Lord  Ringwood, 
who  had  an  excellent  memory  when  he  chose  to  use  it,  was 
pleased  on  this  occasion  to  remember  General  Baynes  and  his 
intimacy  with  his  brother  in  old  days.  And  of  those  old  times 
they  talked;  the  general  waxing  more  eloquent,  I  suppose,  than 
his  wont  over  Lord  Trim's  excellent  wine.  And  in  the  course 
of  conversation  Philip  was  named,  and  the  general,  warm  with 
drink,  poured  out  a  most  enthusiastic  eulogium  on  his  young 
friend,  and  mentioned  how  noble  and  self-denying  Philip's  con- 
duct had  been  in  his  own  case.  And  perhaps  Lord  Ringwood 
was  pleased  at  hearing  these  praises  of  his  brother's  grandson ; 
and  perhaps  he  thought  of  old  times,  when  he  had  a  heart,  and 
he  and  his  brother  loved  each  other.  And  though  he  might 
think  Philip  Firmin  an  absurd  young  blockhead  for  giving  up 
any  claims  which  he  might  have  on  General  Baynes,  at  any  rate 
I  have  no  doubt  his  lordship  thought,  "  This  bay  is  not  likely  to 
come  begging  money  from  me !"  Hence,  when  he  drove  back 
to  his  hotel  on  the  very  night  after  this  dinner,  and  in  the  court- 
yard saw  that  Philip  Firmin,  his  brother's  grandson,  the  heart  of 
the  old  nobleman  was  smitten  with  a  kindly  sentiment,  and  he 
bade  Philip  to  come  and  see  him. 

I  have  described  some  of  Philip's  oddities,  and  among  these 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  205 

was  a  very  remarkable  change  in  his  appearance,  which  ensued 
very  speedily  after  his  ruin.  1  kuow  that  the  greater  number  of 
story  readers  are  young,  and  those  who  are  ever  so  old  remem- 
ber that  their  own  young  days  occurred  but  a  very,  very  short 
while  ago.  Don't  you  remember,  most  potent,  grave,  and  rev- 
erend senior,  when  you  were  a  junior,  and  actually  rather  pleas- 
ed with  new  clothes  ?  Does  a  new  coat  or  a  waistcoat  cause,  you 
any  pleasure  now  ?  To  a  well-constituted  middle-aged  gentle- 
man, I  rather  trust  a  smart  new  suit  causes  a  sensation  of  un- 
easiness— not  from  the  tightness  of  the  fit,  which  may  be  a  reason 
— but  from  the  gloss  and  splendor.     When  my  late  kind  friend, 

Mrs. ,  gave  me  the  emerald  tabinet  waistcoat,  with  the  gold 

shamrocks,  I  wore  it  once  to  go  to  Richmond  to  dine  with  her; 
but  I  buttoned  myself  so  closely  in  an  upper  coat  that  I  am  sure 
nobody  in  the  omnibus  saw  what  a  painted  vest  I  had  on.  Gold 
sprigs  and  emerald  tabinet,  what  a  gorgeous  raiment !  It  has 
formed  for  ten  years  the  chief  ornament  of  my  wardrobe  ;  and 
though  I  have  never  dared  to  wear  it  since,  I  always  think  with 
a  secret  pleasure  of  possessing  that  treasure.  Do  women,  when 
they  are  sixty,  like  handsome  and  fashionable  attire,  and  a  youth- 
ful appearance  ?  Look  at  Lady  Jezebel's  blushing  cheek,  her 
raven  hair,  her  splendid  garments  !  But  this  disquisition  may 
be  carried  to  too  great  a  length.  I  want  to  note  a  fact  which 
has  occurred  not  seldom  in  my  experience — that  men  who  have 
been  great  dandies  will  often  and  suddenly  give  up  their  long- 
accustomed  splendor  of  dress,  and  walk  about,  most  happy  and 
contented,  with  the  shabbiest  of  coats  and  hats.  No.  The  ma- 
jority of  men  are  not  vain  about  their  dress.  For  instance, 
within  a  very  few  years  men  used  to  have  pretty  feet.  See  in 
what  a  resolute  way  they  have  kicked  their  pretty  boots  off"  al- 
most to  a  man,  and  wear  great,  thick,  formless,  comfortable 
walking  boots,  of  shape  scarcely  more  graceful  than  a  tub ! 

When  Philip  Firmin  first  came  on  the  town  there  were  dandies 
still;  there  were  dazzling  waistcoats  of  velvet  and  brocade,  and 
tall  stocks  with  cataracts  of  satin  ;  there  were  pins,  studs,  neck- 
chains,  I  know  not  what  fantastic  splendors  of  youth.  His 
varnished  boots  grew  upon  forests  of  trees.  He  had  a  most  re- 
splendent silver-gilt  dressing-case  presented  to  him  by  his  lather 
(for  which,  it  is  true,  the  doctor  neglected  to  pay,  leaving  that 
duty  to  his  son).  "It  is  a  mere  ceremony,"  said  the  worthy 
doctor,  "  a  cumbrous  thing  you  may  fancy  at  first ;  but  take  it 
about  with  you.  It  looks  well  on  a  man's  dressing-table  at  a 
country  house.  It  poses  a  man,  you  understand.  I  have  known 
women  come  in  and  peep  at  it.  A  trifle,  you  may  say,  my  boy ; 
but  what  is  the  use  of  flinging  any  chance  in  life  away  V"  Now, 
when  misfortune  came,  young  Philip  flung  away  all  these  mag- 
nificent follies.  He  wrapped  himself  virtute  sua;  and  I  am  bound 
to  say  a  more  queer-looking  fellow  than  friend  Philip  seldom 


20G  THE    ADVKNTURES    OF    PHILIP 

walked  the  pavement  of  London  or  Paris.  He  could  not  wear 
the  nap  off  all  his  coats,  or  rub  his  elbows  into  rags  in  six  months  ; 
but,  as  he  would  say  of  himself  with  much  simplicity,  "  I  do 
think  I  run  to  seed  more  quickly  than  any  fellow  I  ever  knew. 
All  my  socks  in  holes,  Mrs.  Pendennis ;  all  my  shirt-buttons 
gone,  I  give  you  my  word.  I  don't  know  how  the  things  hold 
together,  and  why  they  don't  tumble  to  pieces.  I  suspect  I  must 
have  a  bad  laundress."  Suspect!  My  children  used  to  laugh 
and  crow  as  they  sewed  buttons  on  to  him.  As  for  the  Little 
Sister,  she  broke  into  his  apartments  in  his  absence,  and  said 
that  it  turned  her  hair  gray  to  see  the  state  of  his  poor  wardrobe. 
I  believe  that  Mrs.  Brandon  put  in  surreptitious  linen  into  his 
drawers.  He  did  not  know.  He  wore  the  shirts  in  a  contented 
spirit.  The  glossy  boots  began  to  crack  and  then  to  burst,  and 
Philip  wore  them  with  perfect  equanimity.  Where  were  the 
beautiful  lavender  and  lemon  gloves  of  last  year  ?  His  great 
naked  hands  (with  which  he  gesticulates  so  grandly)  were  as 
brown  as  an  Indian's  now.  We  had  liked  him  heartily  in  his 
days  of  splendor ;  we  loved  him  now  in  his  threadbare  suit. 

I  can  fancy  the  young  man  striding  into  the  room  where  his 
lordship's  guests  were  assembled.  In  the  presence  of  great  or 
small,  Philip  has  always  been  entirely  unconcerned,  and  he  is 
one  of  the  half-dozen  men  I  have  seen  in  my  life  upon  whom 
rank  made  no  impression.  It  appears  that,  on  occasion  of  this 
breakfast,  there  were  one  or  two  dandies  present  who  were 
aghast  at  Philip's  freedom  of  behavior.  He  engaged  in  conver- 
sation with  a  famous  French  statesman ;  contradicted  him  with 
much  energy  in  his  own  language  ;  and  when  the  statesman  ask- 
ed whether  monsieur  was  membre  du  Parlement  ?  Philip  burst 
into  one  of  his  roars  of  laughter,  which  almost  breaks  the  glasses 
on  a  table,  and  said,  "  Je  suis  journaliste,  monsieur,  k  vos  ordres !" 
Young  Timbury  of  the  embassy  was  aghast  at  Philip's  insolence; 
and  Dr.  Botts,  his  lordship's  travelling  physician,  looked  at  him 
with  a  terrified  face.  A  bottle  of  claret  was  brought,  which  al- 
most all  the  gentlemen  present  began  to  swallow,  until  Philip, 
tasting  his  glass,  called  out,  "  Faugh  !  It 's  corked  !"  "  So  it  is, 
and  very  badly  corked,"  growls  my  lord,  with  one  of  his  usual 
oaths.  "  Why  did  n't  some  of  you  fellows  speak  ?  Do  you  like 
corked  wine  ?"  There  were  gallant  fellows  round  that  table 
who  would  have  drunk  corked  black  dose,  had  his  lordship  pro- 
fessed to  like  senna.  The  old  host  was  tickled  and  amused. 
"  Your  mother  was  a  quiet  soul,  and  your  father  used  to  bow  like 
a  dancing-master.  You  ain't  much  like  him.  I  dine  at  home  most 
days.  Leave  word  in  the  morning  with  my  people,  and  come 
when  you  like,  Philip,"  he  growled.  A  part  of  this  news  Philip 
narrated  to  us  in  his  letter,  and  the  other  part  was  given  ver- 
bally by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mugford  on  their  return  to  London.  "  I 
tell  you,  sir,"  says  Mugford,  "  he  has  been  taken  by  the  hand  by 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THK    WORLD.  207 

some  of  the  tip-top  people,  and  I  have  booked  him  at  three  guin- 
eas a  week  for  a  letter  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette." 

And  this  was  the  cause  of  my  wife's  exultation  and  triumph- 
ant "  Did  n't  I  tell  you  ?"  Philip's  foot  was  on  the  ladder  ;  and 
who  so  capable  of  mounting  to  the  top  ?  When  happiness  and 
a  fond  and  lovely  girl  were  waiting  for  him  there,  would  he  lose 
heart,  spare  exertion,  or  be  afraid  to  climb  V  He  had  no  truer 
well-wisher  than  myself,  and  no  friend  who  liked  him  better, 
though,  I  dare  say,  many  admired  him  much  more  than  I  did. 
But  these  were  women  for  the  most  part;  and  women  become  so 
absurdly  unjust,  ami  partial  to  persons  whom  they  love,  when 
these  latter  are  in  misfortune,  that  I  am  surprised  Mr.  Philip  did 
not  quite  lose  his  bead  in  his  poverty,  with  such  fond  flatterers 
and  sycophants  round  him.  Would  you  grudge  him  the  conso- 
lation to  be  had  from  these  sweet  uses  of.  adversity  ?  Many  a 
heart  would  be  hardened  but  for  the  memory  of  past  griefs ;  when 
eyes  now  averted,  perhaps,  were  full  of  sympathy,  and  hands, 
now  cold,  were  eager  to  soothe  and  succor. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

QU'ON    EST    P,IEN   A    VINGT    ANS. 

A  fair  correspondent — and  I  would  parenthetically  hint  that 
all  correspondents  are  not  fair — points  out  the  discrepancy  exist- 
ing between  the  text  and  the  illustrations  of  our  story  ;  and  justly 
remarks  that  the  story  dated  more  than  twenty  years  back,  while 
the  costumes  of  the  actors  of  our  little  comedy  are  of  the  fashion 
of  to-day. 

My  dear  madam,  these  anachronisms  must  be,  or  you  would 
scarcely  be  able  to  keep  any  interest  for  our  characters.  What 
would  be  a  woman,  without  a  crinoline  petticoat,  for  example? 
an  object  ridiculous,  hateful,  I  suppose  hardly  proper.  What 
would  you  think  of  a  hero  who  wore  a  large  high  black-satin 
stock  cascading  over  a  figured  silk  waistcoat;  and  a  blue  dress- 
coat,  with  brass  buttons,  mayhap?  If  a  person  so  attired  came 
up  to  ask  you  to  dance,  could  you  refrain  from  laughing  ?  Time 
was  when  young  men  so  decorated  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of 
damsels  who  had  never  beheld  hooped  petticoats  except  in  their 
grandmothers'  portraits.  Persons  who  flourished  in  the  first  part 
of  the  eentury  never  thought  to  see  the  hoops  of  our  ancestors' 
a«-e  rolled  downward  to  our  contemporaries  and  children.  Did 
we  ever  imagine  thajt  a  period  would  arrive  when  our  young  men 
would  part  their  hair  down  the  middle,  and  wear  a  piece  of  tape 
for  a  neckcloth  ?     As  soon  should  we  have  thought  of  their  dye- 


208  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

ing  their  bodies  -with  wcacl,  and  arraying  themselves  like  ancient 
Britons.  So  the  ages  have  their  dress  and  undress;  and  the 
gentlemen  and  ladies  of  Victoria's  time  are  satisfied  with  their 
manner  of  raiment;  as  no  doubt  in  Boadicea's  court  they  looked 
charming  tatooed  and  painted  blue. 

The  times  of  which  we  write,  the  times  of  Louis  Philippe  the 
king,  are  so  altered  from  the  present,  that  when  Philip  Firmin 
went  to  Paris  it  was  absolutely  a  cheap  place  to  live  in ;  and  he 
has  often  bragged  in  subsequent  days  of  having  lived  well  during 
a  month  for  five  pounds,  and  bought  a  neat  waistcoat  with 
a  part  of  the  money.  "A  capital  bedroom,  an  premier,  for. a 
franc  a  day,  sir,"  he  would  call  all  persons  to  remark — "a  bed- 
room as  good  as  yours,  my  lord,  at  Meurice's.  Very  good  tea  or 
'coffee  breakfast,  twenty  francs  a  month,  with  lots  of  bread  and 
butter.  Twenty  francs  a  month  for  washing,  and  fifty  for  dinner 
and  pocket-money — that  !s  about  the  figure.  The  dinner,  I  own, 
is  shy,  unless  I  come  and  dine  with  my  friends ;  and  then  I  make 
up  for  banyan  days."  And  so  saying,  Philip  would  call  out  for 
more  truffled  partridges,  or  affably  fill  his  goblet  with  my  Lord 
Ringwood's  best  .Sillery.  "At  those  shops,"' he  would  observe, 
"where  -I  dine,  I  have  beer  :  I  can't  stand  the  wine.  And  you 
see  I  can't  go  to  the  cheap  English  ordinaries,  of  which  there  are 
many,  because  English  gentlemen's  servants  are  there,  you 
know,  and  it 's  not  pleasant  to  sit  with  a  fellow  who  waits  on  you 
the  day  after." 

"  Oh !  the  English  servants  go  to  the  cheap  ordinaries,  do 
they?"  asks  my  lord,  greatly  amused,  "and  you  drink  Mere  de 
Mars  at  the  shop  where  you  dine ?" 

"And  dine  very  badly,  too,  I  can  tell  you.  Always  come  away 
hungry.  Give  me  some  champagne — the  dry,  if  you  please. 
They  mix  very  well  together — sweet  and  dry.  Did  you  ever 
dine  at  Flicoteau's,  Mr.  Pecker  ?" 

" I  dine  at  one  of  your  horrible  two-franc  houses '?"  cries  Mr. 
Pecker,  with  a  look  of  terror.  "  Do  you  know,  my  lord,  there 
are  actually  houses  where  people  dine  for  two  francs?" 

"Two  francs!  Seventeen  sous  1"  bawls  out  Mr.  Firmin. 
The  soup,  the  beef,  the  roti,  the  salad,  the  dessert,  and  the  whi- 
ty-brown  bread  at  discretion.  Jt  's  not  a  good  dinner,  certainly 
— in  fact,  it  is  a  dreadful  bad  one.  But  to  dine  so  would  do 
some  fellows  a  great  deal  of  good." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Pecker?  Flicoteau's;  seventeen  sous. 
We  '11  make  a  little  party  and. try,  and  Firmin  shall  do  the  hon- 
ors of  his  restaurant,"  says  my  lord,  with  a  grin. 

"  Mercy  !"  gasps  Mr.  Pecker. 

"  I  had  rather  dine  here,  if  you  please,  my  lord,"  says  the 
young  man.     "  This  is  cheaper,  and  certainly  better." 

My  lord's  doctor,  and  many  of  the  guests  at  his  table,  my  lord's 
henchmen,  flatterers,  and  led  captains,  looked  aghast  at  the  free- 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  209 

dom  of  the  young  fellow  in  the  shabby  coat.  Ifjhey  dared  to  be 
familiar  with  their  host,  there  came  a*  scowl  over  that  noble 
countenance  which  was  awful  to  fa^e.  They  drank  his  corked 
wine  in  meekness  of  spirit.  They  laughed  at  his  jokes  trembling. 
One  after  another,  they  were  the- objects  of  his  satire;  and  each 
grinned  piteously  as  he  took  his  turn  of  punishment.  Some  din- 
ners are  dear,  though  they  e«*t  nothing.  At  some  great  tables 
are  not  toads  served  along  with  the  entrees?  "Yes,  and  many 
amateurs  are  exceedingly  fond  of  the  dish. 

How  do  Parisians  live  at  all?  is  a  question  which  has  often  set 
me  wondering.  How  do  men  in  public  offices,  with  fifteen  thou- 
sand francs,  let  us  say,  for  a  salary — and  this,  for  a  French 
official,  is  a  high  salary — live  in  handsome  apartments  ;  give  gen- 
teel entertainments;  clothe  themselves  and  their  families  with 
much  more  sumptuous  raiment  than  English  people  of  the  same 
station  can  afford  ;  take  their  country  holiday,  a  six  weeks'  so- 
journ aux  eaitx :  and  appear  cheerful  and  to  want  for  nothing? 
Paterfamilias,  with  six  hundred  a  year  in  London,  knows  what  a 
straitened  life  his  is,  with  rent  high,  and  beef  at  a  shilling  a 
pound.  Well,  in  Paris  rent  is  higher  and  meat  is  dearer;  and 
yet  madame  is  richly  dressed  when  you  see  her:  monsieur  has 
always  a  little  money  in  his  pocket  for  his  club  or  his  cafe;  and 
something  is  pretty  surely  put  away  every  year  for  the  marriage- 
portion  of  the  young  folks.  "  Sir,"  Philip  used  to  say,  describing 
this  period  of  his  life,  on  which — and  on  most  subjects  regarding 
himself,  by  the  way — he  was  wont  to  be  very  eloquent,  "when 
my  income  was  raised  to  five  thousand  francs  a  year,  I  give  you 
my  word  I  was  considered  to  be  rich  by  my  French  acquaint- 
ance. I  gave  four  sous  to  the  waiter  at  our  dining-place — in 
that  respect  I  was  always  ostentatious — and  I  believe  they  called 
me  Milor.  I  should  have  been  poor  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix ;  but 
I  was  wealthy  in  the  Luxembourg  quarter.  Don't  tell  me  about 
poverty,  sir !  Poverty  is  a  bully  if  you  are  afraid  of  her,  or 
truckle  to  her.  Poverty  is  good-natured  enough  if  you  meet  her 
like  a  man.  You  saw  how  my  poor  old  father  was  afraid  of  her, 
and  thought  the  world  would  come  to  an  end  if  Dr.  Firmin  did 
not  keep  his  butler,  and  his  footman,  and  his  fine  "house,  and  fine 
chariot  and  horses  ?  He  was  a  poor  man,  if  you  please.  He 
must  have  suffered  agonies  in  his  struggle  to  make  both  ends 
meet.  Everything  he  bought  must  have  cost  him  twice  the  hon- 
est price ;  and  when  I  think  of  nights  that  must  have  been  passed 
without  sleep — of  that  proud  man  having  to  smirk  and  cringe 
before  creditor?! — to  coax  butchers,  by  George!  and  wheedle 
tailors — I  pity  him  :  I  can't  be  angry  any  more.  3?hat  man  has 
suffered  enough.  As  for  me,  have  n't  you  remarked  that  since  I 
have  not  a  guinea  in  the  world,  I  swagger,  and  am  a  much  great- 
er swell  than  before  ?"     And  the  truth  is  that  a  Prince  Royal 


210  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

could  not  have  called  for  his  gens  with  a  more  magnificent  air 
than  Mr.  Philip 'when  1ft  summoned  the  waiter  and  paid  for  his 
petti  verve. 

Talk  of  poverty,  indeed!  That  period,  Philip  vows,  was  the 
happiest  of  his  life.  He  liked  to  tell  in  after-days  of  the  choice 
acquaintance  of  Bohemians  which  he  had  formed.  Their  jog, 
he  said,  though  it  contained  but  #mall-beer,  was  always  full. 
Their  tobacco,  though  it  bore  no  higher  rank  than  that  of  capo- 
ral,  was  plentiful  and  fragrant.  He  knew  some  admirable  medi- 
cal students.;  some  artists  who  only  wanted  talent  and  industry 
to  be  at  the  height  of  their  profession ;  and  one  or  two  of  the 
magnates  of  his  own  calling,  the  newspaper  correspondents, 
whose  houses  and  tables  were  open,  to  him.  It  was  wonderful 
what  secrets  of  politics  he  learned  and  transmitted  to  his  own 
paper.  He  pursued  French  statesmen  of  those  days  with  pro- 
digious eloquence  and  vigor.  At  the  expense  of  that  old  king 
he  was  wonderfully  witty  and  sarcastieal.  He  reviewed  the  af- 
fairs of  Europe,  settled  the  destinies  of  Russia,  denounced  the 
Spanish  marriages,  disposed  of  the  Pope,  and  advocated  the  lib- 
eral cause  in  France,  with  an  untiring  eloquence.  "Absinthe 
used  to  be  my  drink,  sir,"  so  he  was  goo$  enough  to  tell  his 
friends.  "  It  makes  the  ink  run,  and  imparts  a  fine  eloquence 
to  the  style.  Mercy  upon  us,  how  I  would  belabor  that  poor 
King  of  the  French  under  the  influence  of  absinthe  in  that  cafe; 
opposite  the  Bourse  where  I  use  to  make  my  letter!  Who 
knows,  sir,  perhaps  the  influence  of  those  letters  precipitated  the 
fall  of  the  Bourbon  dynasty!  Before  I  had  an  office,  Gilligan, 
of  the  Century,  and  I  used  to  do  our  letters  at  that  cafe;  we 
compared  notes,  and  pitched  into  each  other  amicably." 

Gilligan,  of  the  Century,  and  Firmin,  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 
were,  however,  very  minor  personages  among  the  London  news- 
paper correspondents.  Their,  seniors  of  the  daily  press  had 
handsome  apartments,  gave  sumptuous  dinners,  were  closeted 
with  ministers'  secretaries,  and  entertained  members  of  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies.  Philip,  on  perfectly  easy  terms  with  him- 
self and  the  world,  swaggering  about,  the  embassy  balls — Philip, 
the  friend  and  relative  of  Lord  Ringwood — was  viewed  by  his 
professional  seniors  and  superiors  with  an  eye  of  favor,  which 
was  not  certainly  turned  on  all  gentlemen  following  his  calling. 
Certainly  poor  Gilligan  was  never  asked  to  those  dinners  which 
some  of  the  newspaper  embassadors  gave,  whereas  Philip  was 
received  not  {inhospitably.  Gilligan  received  but  a  cold  shoul- 
der at  Mrs.  Morning  Messenger's  Thursdays;  and  as  for  being 
asked  to  dinner,  bedad  !  u  That  fellow,  Firmin,  has  an  air  with 
him  which  will  carry  him  through  anywhere !"  Phil's  brother 
correspondent  owned.  "  He  seems  to  patronize  an  embassador 
when  he  goes  up  and  speaks  to  him ;  and  he  says  to  a  secretary, 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    TMK    WORLD.  v21  I 

'My  good  fellow,  tell  your  master  that  Mr.  Firmin,  of  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette,  wants  to  sea  him,  and  will  thank  him  to  .step  over 
to  the  Cafe  de  la  Bour.se.'  "  I  don't  think  Philip,  for  his  part, 
would  have  seen  much  matt  -r  of  surprise  in  a  minister  stepping 
over  to  speak  to  him.  To  him  all  folk  were  alike,  great  and 
small ;  and  it  is  recorded  of  him  that  when,  on  one  occasion,  Lord 
Riugwood  paid  him  a  visit  at  his  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain,  Philip  affably  offered  His  lordship  a  comet  of  fried  po- 
tatoes, with  which,  and  plentiful  tobacco  of  course,  Philip  and 
one  or  two  of  his  friends  were  regaling  themselves  when  Lord 
Ringwood  chanced  to  call  on  his  kinsman. 

A  crurt  and  a  carafon  of  small-beer,  a  correspondence  with  a 
weekly  paper,  and  a  remuneration  such  as  that  we  have  men- 
tioned— was  Philip  Firmin  to  look  for  no  more  than  this  pittance, 
and  not  to  seek  for  more  permanent  and  lucrative  employment? 
Some  of  his  friends  at  home  were  rather  vexed  at  what  Philip 
chose  to  consider  his  good  fortune;  namely,  his  connection  with 
the  newspaper  and  the  small  stipend  it  gave  him.  He  might 
quarrel  with  his  employer  any  day.  Indeed  no  man  was  more 
likely  to  Ming  his  bread  and  butter  out  of  window  than  Mr.  Phi- 
lip. He  was  losing  precious  time  at  the.  bar ;  where  he,  as  hun- 
dreds of  other  poor  gentlemen  had  done  before  him,  might  make 
a  career  for  himself.  For  what  are  colonies  made  ?  Why  do 
bankruptcies  occur  ?  Why  do  people  break  the  peace  and  quar- 
rel with  policemen,  but  that  barristers  may  be  employed  as 
judges,  commissioners,  magistrates  ?  A  reporter  to  a  newspaper 
remains  all  his  life  a  newspaper  reporter.  Philip,  if  he  would 
but  help  himself,  had  friends  in  the  world  who  might  aid  effectu- 
ally to  advance  him.  So  it  was  we  pleaded  with  him,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  moderation,  urging  the  dictates  of  common  sense.  As 
if  moderation  and  common  sense  could  be  got  to  move  that  mule 
of  a  Philip  Firmin  ;  as  if  any  persuasion  of  ours  could  induce  him 
to  do  anything  but  what  he  liked  to  do  best  himself! 

"  That  you  should  be  worldly,  my  poor  fellow  "  (so  Philip 
wrote  to  his  present  biographer) — "that  you  should  be  thinking 
of  money  and  the  main  chance,  is  no  matter  of  surprise  to  me. 
You  have  suffered  under  that  curse  of  manhood,  that  destroyer 
of  irenerosity  in  the  mind,  that  parent  of  selfishness — a  little  fort- 
une. You  have  your  wretched  hundreds  "  (my  candid  corres- 
pondent stated  the  sum  correctly  enough ;  and  I  wish  it  were 
double  or  treble  ;  but  that  is  not  here  the  point)  "  paid  quarterly. 
The  miserable  pittance  numbs  your  whole  existence.  It  pre- 
vents freedom  of  thought  and  action.  It  make,3  a  screw  of  a 
man  who  is  certainly  not  without  generous  impulses  :  a-i  I  know, 
my  poor  old  Harpagon,  for  hast  thou  not  offered  to  open  thy 
purse  to  me  V  I  tell  you  I  am  sick  of  the  way  in  which  people  in 
London,  especially  good  people,  think  about  money.  You  live 
up  to  your  income's  edge.     You  are  miserably  poor.     Yrou  brag 


212  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  flatter  yourselves  that  you  owe  no  man  anything ;  but  your 
estate  has  creditors  upon  it  as  insatiable  as  any  usurer,  and 
as  hard  as  any  bailiff.  You  call  Hie  jeckless,  and  prodigal,  and 
idle,  and  all  sorts  of  names,  because  I  live  in  a  single  room,  dp  as 
little  work  as  I  can,  and  go  about  with  holes  in  my  boots :  and 
you  flatter  yourself  you  are  prudent,  because  you  have  a  genteel 
house,  a  grave  flunky  out  of  livery,  and  two  green-grocers  to 
wait  when  you  give  your  half-dozen  dreary  dinner-parties. 
Wretched  man  !  You  are  a  slave  :  not  a  man.  You  are  a  pau- 
per, with  a  good  house  and  good  clothes.  You  are  so  miserably 
prudent  that  all  your  money  is  spent  for  you,  except  the  few 
wretched  shillings  which  you  allow  yourself  for  pocket-money. 
You  tremble  at  the  expense  of  a  cab.  I  believe  you  actually  look 
at  half-a-crown  before  you  spend  it.  The  landlord  is  your  mas- 
ter. The  livery-stable  keeper  is  your  master.  A  train  of  ruth- 
less, useless  servants  are  your  pitiless  creditors,  to  whom  you 
have  to  pay  exorbitant  dividends  every  day.  I,  with  a  hole  in 
my  elbow,  who  live  upon  a  shilling  dinner,  and  walk  on  cracked 
boot-soles,  am  called  extravagant,  idle,  reckless,  I  don't- know 
what ;  while  you,  forsooth,  consider  yourself  prudent.  Miserable 
delusion  !  You  are  flinging  away  heaps  of  money  on  useless 
flunkies,  on  useless  maid-servants,  on  useless  lodgings,  on  useless 
finery — and  you  say,  '  Poor  Phil !  what  a  sad  idler  he  is  !  how 
he  flings  himself  away  !  in  what  a  wretched  disreputable  manner 
he  lives  !'  Poor*  Phil  is  as  rich  as  you  are,  for  he  has  enough,  and 
is  content.  Poor  Phil  can  afford  to  be  idle,  and  you  can't.  You 
must  work  in  order  to  keep  that  great  hulking  footman,  that 
great  raw-boned  cook,  that  army  of  babbling  nursery-maids,  and 
I  don't  know  what  more.  And  if  you  choose  to  submit  to  the 
slavery  and  degradation  inseparable  from  your  condition  ;  the 
wretched  inspection  of  candle  ends,  which  you  call  order  ;  the 
mean  self-denials,  which  you  must  daily  practice — I  pity  you,  and 
don't  quarrel  with  you.  But  1  wish  you  would  not  be  so  insuf- 
ferably virtuous,  and  readj- with  your  blame  and  pity  for  me.  If 
I  am  happy,  pray  need  you  be  ditquieted  ?  Suppose  I  prefer  in- 
dependence and  shabby  boots  ?  Are  not  these  better  than  to  be 
pinched  by  your  abominable  varnished  conventionalism,  and  to 
be  denied  the  liberty  of  free'action  ?  My  poor  fellow,  I  pity  you 
from  my  heart ;  and  it  grieves  me  to  think  how  those  fine  honest 
children — honest,  and  hearty,  and  frank,  and  open  as  yet — are 
to  lose  their  natural  good  qualities,  and  to  be  swathed,  and  swad- 
dled, and  stifled  out  of  health  and  honesty  by  that  obstinate 
worldling,  their  father.  Don't  tell  me  about  the'world  :  I  know  it- 
People  sacrifice  the  next  world  to  it,  and  are  all  the  while  proud 
of  their  prudence.  Look  at  my  miserable  relations,  steeped  in 
respectability.  Look  at  my  father.  There  is  a  chance  for  him, 
now  he  is  down  and  in  poverty.  I  have  had  a  letter  from  him, 
containing  more  of  that  dreadful  worldly  advice  which  you  Phari- 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  213 

sees  give.  If  it  were  n't  for  Laura  and  the  children,  sir,  I 
heartily  wish  you  were  ruined  like  your  affectionate         P.  F. 

"N.B.,  P.S. — Oh,  Pen  !  I  am  so  happy  !  She  is  such  a  little 
darling  !  I  bathe  in  her  iunocence,  sir  !  I  strengthen  myself  in 
her  purity.  I  kneel  before  her  sweet  goodness  and  unconscious- 
ness of  guile.  I  walk  from  my  room,  and  see  her  every  morning 
before  seven  o'clock.  I  £8e  her  every  afternoon.  She  loves  you 
and  Laura.  And  you  love  her,  don't  you  ?  And  to  think  that 
six  months  ago  I  Was  going  to  marry  a  woman  without  a  heart! 
Why,  sir,  blessings  be  on  the  poor  old  father  for  spending  our 
money,  and  rescuing  me  from  that  horrible  fate  !  I  might  have 
been  like  that  fellow  in  the  '  Arabian  Night?,'  who  married 
Amina — the  respectable  woman,  who  dined  upon  grains  of  rice, 
but  supped  upon  cold  dead  body.  Was  it  not  worth  all  the 
money  I  ever  was  heir  to,  to  have  escaped  from  that  ghoul  ? 
Lord  Ringwood  says  he  thinks  I  was  well  out  of  that.  He  calls 
people  by  Anglo-Saxon  names,  and  uses  very  expressive  mono- 
syllables; and  of  Aunt  Twysden,  of  Uncle  Twysden,  of  the  girls, 
and  their  brother,  he  speaks  in  a  way  which  makes  mc  see  he  has 
come  to  just  conclusions  about  them. 

"  P.S.  No.  2. —  Ah,  Pen  !  She  is  such  a  darling.  I  think  I  am 
the  happiest  man  in  the  world." 

And  this  was  what  came  of  being  ruined  !  A  scapegrace, 
who,  when  he  had  plenty  of  money  in  his  pocket,  was  ill-tem- 
pered, imperious,  and  discontented;  now  that  he  is  not  worth 
two-pence,  declares  himself  the  happiest  fellow  in  the  world  ! 
Do  you  remember,  my  dear,  how  he  used  to  grumble  at  our  claret, 
and  what  wry  faces  he  made,  when  there  was  only  cold  meat  for 
dinner  V  The  wretch  is  absolutely  contented  with  bread  and 
cheese  and  small-beer — even  that  bad  beer  which  they  have  in 
Paris  !  Now  and  again,  at  this  time,  and  as  our  mutual  avocations 
permitted,  I  saw  Philip's  friend,  the  Little  Sister.  He  wrote  to 
her  dutifully  from  time  to  time.  He  told  her  of  his  love  affair 
with  Miss  Charlotte  ;  and  my  wife  and  I  could  console  Caroline, 
by  assuring  her  that  this  time  the  young  man's  heart  was  given 
to  a  worthy  mistress.  I  say  console,  for  the  news,  after  all,  was 
sad  for  her.  In  the  little  chamber  which  she  always  kept  ready 
for  him,  he  would  lie  awake,  and  think  of  some  one  dearer  to  him 
than  a  hundred  poor  Carolines.  She  would  devise  something 
that  should  be  agreeable  to  the  young  lady.  At  Christmas-time 
there  came  to  Miss  Baynes  a  wonderfully  worked  cambric  pocket- 
handkerchief,  with  "Charlotte"  most  beautifully  embroidered  in 
the  corner.  It  was  this  poor  widow's  mite  of  love  and  tenderness 
which  she  meekly  laid  down  in  the  place  where  she  worshipped. 
"  And  I  have  six  for  him,  too,  ma'am,"  Mrs.  Brandon  told  my 
wife.  "  Poor  fellow  !  His  shirts  was  in  a  dreadful  way  when  he 
went  away  from  here,  and  that  you  know,  ma'am."  So  you  see 
this  wayfarer,  having  fallen  among  undoubted  thieves,  yet  found 


214  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

many  kind  souls  to  relieve  him,  and  many  a  good  Samaritan 
ready  with  his  two-pence,  if  need  were. 

The  reason  why  Philip  was  the  happiest  man  in  the  world  of 
course  you  understand.  French  people  are  very  early  risers ; 
and,  at  the  little  hotel  where  Mr.  Philip  lived,  the  whole  crew  of 
the  house  were  up  hours  before  lazy  English  masters  and  servants 
think  of  stirring.  At  ever  so  early  an'uour  Phil  had  a  fine  bowl 
of  coffee  and  milk  and  bread  for  his  breakfast ;  and  he  was  strid- 
ing down  to  the  Invalides,  and  across  the  bridge  to  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  the  fumes  of  his  pipe  preceded  him  with  a  pleasant 
odor.  And  a  short  time  after  passing  the  ftond  Point  in  the 
Elysian  fields,  where  an  active  fountain  was  flinging  up  showers 
of  diamonds  to  the  sky — after,  I  say,  leaving  the  Kond  Point  on 
his  right,  and  passing  under  umbrageous  groves  in  the  direction 
of  the  present  Castle  of  Flowers,  Mr.  Philip  would  see  a  little 
person.  Sometimes  a  young  sister  or  brother  came  with  the  lit- 
tle person.  Sometimes  only  a  blush  fluttered  on  her  check,  and 
a  sweet  smile  beamed  in  her  face  as  she  came  forward  to  greet 
him.  For  the  angels  were  scarce  purer  than  this  j'oung  maid  ; 
and  Una  was  no  more  afraid,  of  the  lion  than  Charlotte  of  her  com- 
panion with  the  loud  voice  and  the  tawny  mane.  I  would  not 
have  envied  that  reprobate's  lot  who  should  have  dared  to  say-  a 
doubtful  word  to  this  Una :  but  the  truth  is,  she  never  thought 
of  danger,  or  met  with  any.  The  workmen  were  going  to  their 
labor  ;  the  dandies  were  asleep  ;  and,  considering  their  age,  and 
the  relationship  in  which  they  stood  to  one  another,  I  am  not  sur- 
prised at  Philip  for  announcing  that  this  was  the  happiest  time  of 
his  life.  In  later  days,  when  two  gentlemen  of  mature  age  hap- 
pened to  be  in  Paris  together,  what  must  Mr.  Philip  Firrnin  do 
but  insist  upon  walking  me  sentimentally  to  the  Champs  Elysees, 
and  looking  at  an  old/  house  there,  a  rather  shabby  old  house  in 
a  garden.  "  That  was  the  place,"  sighs  he.  "  That  was  Ma- 
dame de  Smolensk's.  That  was  the  window,  the  third  one,  with 
the  green  jalousie.  By  Jove,  sir,  how  happy  and  how  miserable 
J  have  been  behind  that  green  blind  !"  And  my  friend  shakes 
his  large  fist  at  the  somewhat  dilapidated  mansion,  whence  Ma- 
dame de  Smolensk  and  her  boarders  have  long  since  departed. 

I  fear  that  baroness  had  engaged  in  her  enterprise  with  insuf- 
ficient capital,  or  conducted  it  with  such  liberality  that  her  profits 
were  eaten  up  by  her  boarders.  I  could  tell  dreadful  stories  im- 
pugning the  baroness'  moral  character.  People  said  she  had  no 
right  to  the  title  of  baroness  at  all,  or  to  the  noble  foreign  name 
of  Smolensk.  People  are  still  alive  who  knew  her  under  a  dif- 
ferent name.  The  baroness  herself  was  what  some  amateurs  call 
a  line  woman,  especially  at  dinner-time,  when  she  appeared  in 
black  satin  and  with  cheeks  that  blushed  up  as  far  as  the  eyelids. 
In  her  peignoir  in  the  morning,  she  was  perhaps  the  reverse  of 
fine.       Contours  which  were  round  at  night,  in  the  lbrenoon  ap- 


ON    HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE    WOKLD.  215 

» 

peared  lean  and  angular.  Her  roses  only  bloomed  half  an  hour 
before  dinner-time  on  a  cheek  which  was  quite  yellow  until  five 
o'clock.  I  am  sure  it  is  very  kind  of  elderly  and  ill-complexioned 
people  to  supply  the  ravages  of  time  or  jaundice,  and  present  to 
our  view  a  figure  blooming  and  agreeable,  in  place  of  an  object 
faded  and  withered.  Do  you  quarrel  with  your  opposite  neigh- 
bor for  painting  his  house-front  or  putting  roses  in  his  balcony  ? 
You  are  rather  thankful  for  the  adornment.  Madame  dc  Smo- 
lensk's front  was  so  decorated  of  afternoons.  Geraniums  wvvc, 
set  pleasantly  under  those  first-floor  windows,  her  eyes.  Careel 
lamps  beamed  from  those  windows  :  lamps  which  she  had  trimmed 
with  her  own  scissors,  and  into  which  that  poor  widow  poured  the 
oil  which  she  got  some  how  and  any  how.  When  the  dingy 
breakfast  papiliotes  were  cast  of  an  afternoon,  what  beautiful 
black  curls  appeared  round  her  brow  !  The  dingy  papiliotes  were 
put  away  in  the  drawer:  the  peignoir  retired  to  its  hook  behind 
the  door  :  the  satin  raiment  came  forth,  the  shining,  the  ancient, 
the  well-kept,  the  well-wadded  :  and  at  the  same  moment  the 
worthy  woman  took  that  smile  out  of  some  cunning  box  on  her 
scanty  toilet-table — that  smile  which  she  wore  all  the  evening 
along  with  the  rest  of  her  toilet,  and  took  out  of  her  mouth  when 
she  went  to  bed  and  to  think — to  think  how  both  ends  were  to 
be  made  to  meet. 

Philip  said  he  respected  and  admired  that  woman  :  and  worthy 
of  respect  she  was  in  her  way.  She  painted  her  face  and  grinned 
at  poverty.  She  laughed  and  rallied  with  care  gnawing  at  .-her 
side.  She  had  to  coax  the  milkman  out  of  his  human  kindness  : 
to  pour  oil — his  own  oil — upon  the  stormy  epicier's  soul :  to  melt 
the  butterman  :  to  tap  the  wine  merchant :  to  mollify  the  butcher: 
to  invent  new  pretexts  for  the  landlord:  to  reconcile  I  he  lady 
boarders,  Mrs.  General  Bayncs,  let  us  say,  and  the  Honorable 
Mrs.  Boldero,  who  were  always  quarrelling:  to  see  that  the  din- 
ner, when  procured,  was  cooked  properly;  that  Franchise,  fo 
whom  she  owed  ever  so  many  months'  wages,  was  not  too  rebel- 
lious or  intoxicated  ;  that  Auguste,  also  her  creditor,  had  his  glass 
clean  and  his  lamps  in  order.  And  this  work  done,  and  the  hour 
of  six  o'clock  arriving,  she  had  to  carve,  and  be  agreeable  to  her 
table  ;  not  to  hear  the  growls  of  the  discontented  (and  at  what 
table-d'hote  are  there  not  grumblers  V)  ;  to  have  a  word  for  every 
body  present ;  a  smile  and  a  laugh  for  Mrs.  Bunch  (with  whom 
there  had  been  very  likely  a  dreadful  row  in  the  morning)  ;  a  re- 
mark for  the  colonel ;  a  polite  phrase  for  the  general's  lady  ;  and 
even  a  good  word  and  compliment  for  sulky  Auguste,  who  just 
before,  dinner-time  had  unfolded  the  napkin  of  mutiny  about  his 
wages. 

Was  not  this  enough  work  for  a  woman  to  do  ?  To  conduct 
a  great  house  without  sufficient  money,  and  make  soup,  fish, 
roasts,  and  half  a  dozen  entrees  out  of  wind  as  it  were?  to  eon- 


21 G  the  adventuiies  of  philip 

jure  up  wine  in  piece  and  by  the  dozen  ?  to  laugh  and  joke 
without  the  least  gayety  ?  to  receive  scorn,  abuse,  rebuffs,  inso- 
lence, with  gay  good-huinor  ?  and  then  to  go  to  bed  wearied  at 
night,  and  have  to  think  about  figures  and  that  dreadful,  dread- 
ful sum  in  arithmetic — given,  £5  to  pay  £6  ?  Lady  Macbeth  is 
supposed  to  have  been  a  resolute  woman ;  and  great,  tall,  loud, 
hectoring  females  are  set  to  represent  the  character.  I  say  no. 
She  was  a  weak  woman.  She  began  to  walk  in  her  sleep,  and 
blab  after  one  disagreeable  little  incident  had  occurred  in  her 
house.  She  broke  down,  and  got  all  the  people  away  from  her 
own  table  in  the  most  abrupt  and  clumsy  manner,  because  that 
drivelling  epileptic  husband  of  hers  fancied  "he  saw  a  ghost.  In 
Lady  Smolensk's  place  Madame  de  Macbeth  would  have  broken 
down  in  a  week,  and  Smolensk  lasted  for  years.  If  twenty 
gibbering  ghosts  had  come  to  the  boarding-house  dinner,  ma- 
dame  would  have  gone  on  carving  her  dishes,  and  smiling,  and 
helping  the  live  guests,  the  paying  guest3,  leaving  the  dead 
guests  to  gibber  away  and  help  themselves.  "My  poor  father 
had  to  keep  up  appearances,"  Phil  would  say,  recounting  these 
things  in  after-days;  "but  how  ?  You  know  he  always  looked 
as  if  he  was  going  to  be  hung."  Smolensk  was  the  gayest  of  the 
gay  always.  That  woman  would  have  tripped  up  to  her  funeral 
pile  and  kissed  her  hands  to  her  friends  with  a  smiling  "  bon 
jour ! " 

"Pray,  who  was  Monsieur  de  Smolensk?"  asks  a  simple  lady 
who  may  be  listening  to  our  friend's  narrative. 

"Ah,  my  dear  lady!  there  was  a  pretty  disturbance  in  the 
house  when  that  question  came  to  be  mooted,  I  promise  you," 
says  our  friend,  laughing,  as  he  recounts  his  adventures.  And, 
after  all,  what  does  it  matter  to  you  and  me  and  this  story  who 
Smolensk  was  ?  I  am  sure  this  poor  lady  had  hardships  enough 
in  her  life  campaign,  and  that  Ney  himself  could  not  have  faced 
fortune  with  a  constancy  more  heroical. 

Well.  When  the  Bayneses  first  came  to  her  house,  Ptell  you 
Smolensk  and  all  round  her  smiled,  and  our  friends  thought 
they  were  landed  in  a  real  rosy  Elysium  in  the  Champs  of  that 
name.  Madame  had  a  Carrick  a  la  Indienne  prepared  in  cora-- 
pliment  to  her  guests.  She  had  had  many  Indians  in  her  estab- 
lishment. She  adored  Indians.  JSTetait  ce  la  polygamie — they 
were  most  estimable  people,  the  Hindus.  Surtout  she  adored 
Indian  shawls.  That  of  Madame  la  Generale  was  ravishing. 
The.  company  at  madame's  was  pleasant.  The  Honorable  Mrs. 
Bohlero  was  a  dashing  woman  of  fashion  and  respectability,  who 
had  lived  in  the  best  world — it  was  easy  to  see  that.  The  young 
ladies'  duets  were  very  striking.  The  Honorable  Mr.  Boldero 
was  away  shooting  in  Scotland  at  his  brother,  Lord  Strong- 
itharm's,  and  would  take  Gaberlunzie  Castle  and  the  duke's  on 
his  way  south.     Mrs.  Baynes  did  not  know  Lady  Estridgo,  the 


ON   HI8    WAY   THROUGH  THE   WORLD,  217 

embassadress  ?  When  the  Estridges  returned  from  Chantilly, 
the  Honorable  Mrs.  B.  would  be  delighted  to  introduce  her. 
"  Your  pretty  girl's  name  is  Charlotte  ?  '  So  is  Lady  Estridge's— 
arid  very  nearly  as  tall;  fine  girls,  the  Estridges;  fine  long  nooks 
— large  feet— but  your,  girl,  Lady  Baynes,  has  beautiful  feet. 
Lady  Baynes,  I  said  V  Well,  you  must  be  Lady  Baynes  soon. 
The  general  must  be  a  K.  C.  B.  after  his  services.  What,  you 
know  Lord  Trim  ?  fie  will  and  must  do  it  for  you.  If  not,  my 
brother  Slrongit.harm  shall."  I  have  no  doubt  Mrs.  Baynes  was 
greatly  elated  by  the  attentions  of  Lord  Strongitharm's  sister; 
and  looked  him  out  in  the  Peercujd,  where  his  lordship's  arms, 
pedigree,  and  residence  of  Gaberlunzie  Castle  are  duly  recorded. 
The  Honorable.  Mrs.  Roldero's  daughters,  the  Misses  Minna  and 
Brenda  Boldero,  played  some  rattling  sonatas  on  a  piano  which 
was  a  good  deal  fatigued  by  their  exertions,  for  the  young  ladies' 
hands  were  very  powerful.  And  madame  said,  "Thank  you," 
with  her  sweetest  smile;  and  Auguste  handed  about  on  a  silver 
tray — I  say  silver,  so  that  the  convenances  may  not  be  wounded 
— well,  say  silver  that  was  blushing  to  find  itself  copper — handed 
up  on  a  tray  a  white  drink  which  made  the  Baynes  boys  cry  out, 
u  I  say,  mother,  what  rs  this  beastly  thing?"  On  which  madame, 
with  the  sweetest  smile,  appealed  to  the  company,  and  said, 
li  They  love  orgeat,  these  dear  infants!"  and  resumed  her  piquet 
with  old  M.  Bidois — that  odd  old  gentleman  in  the  long  brown 
coat,  with  the  red  ribbon,  who  took  so  much  snuff  and  blew  his 
nose  so  often  and  so  loudly.  One,  two,  three  rattling  sonatas 
Minna  and  Brenda  played  ;  Mr.  Clancy,  of  Trinity  College, 
Dublin  (M.  de  Cianci,  madame  called  him),  turning  over  the 
leaves,  and  presently  being  persuaded  to  sing  some  Irish  melo- 
dies for  the  ladies.  I  don't  think  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes  listened 
to  the  music  much.  She  was  listening  to  another  music,  which 
she  and  Mr.  Firmin  wore  performing  together.  Oh,  how  pleas- 
ant that  music  used  to  be !  There  was  a  sameness  in  it,  I  dare 
say;  but  still  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  the  air  over  again.  The 
pretty  little  duet  a  quatre  mains,  where  the  hands  cross  over, 
and  hop  up  and  down  the  keys,  and  the  heads  get  so  close,  so 
close.  Oh,  duets !  oh,  regrets  !  Pshaw  !  no  more  of  this.  Go 
down  stairs,  old  dotard.  Take  your  hat  and  umbrella  and  go 
walk  by  the  sea-shore,  and  whistle  a  toothless  old  solo.  "  These 
are  our  quiet  nights,"  whispers  M.  de  Cianci  to  the  Baynes  la- 
dies, when  the  evening  draws  to  an  cud.  "  Madamc's  Thurs- 
days are,  I  promise  ye,  much  more  fully  attended."  Good-night, 
good-night!  A  squeeze  of  a  little  hand,  a  hearty  hand-shake 
From  papa  and  mamma,  and  Philip  is  striding  through  the  dark 
Elysian  fields  and  over  the  Place  of  Concord  to  his  lodgings  in 
the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  Or,  stay  1  What  is  that  glow- 
worm beaming  By  the  wall  opposite  Madame  de  Smolensk's 
house — a  glow-worm  thai  wafts  ah  aromatic  incense  and  odor? 
19 


218  THE   ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

I  do  believe  it  is  Mr.  Philip's  cigar.  And  he  is  watching,  watch- 
ing at  a  window  by  which  a  slim  figure  flits  now  and  again. 
Then  darkness  falls  on  the  little  window.  The  sweet  eyes  are 
closed.  Oh,  blessings,  blessings  be  upon  them  1  The  stars  shine 
overhead.  And  homeward  stalks  Mr.  Firmin,  talking  to  himself, 
and  brandishing  a  great  stick.  I  wish  that  poor  Madame  Smo- 
lensk could  sleep  as  well  as  the  people  in  her  house.  But  care, 
with  the  cold  feet,  gets  under  the  coverlet,  and  says,  "  Here  I 
am;  you  know  that  bill  is  coming  due  to-morrow."  Ah,  atra 
cura!  can't  you  leave  the  poor  thing  a  little  quiet  ?  Has  n't  she 
had  work  enough  for  all  day  ? 


CHAPTER  XX. 

COURSE    OF    TRUE    LOVE. 

We  beg  the  gracious  reader  to  remember  that  Mr.  Philip's 
business  at  Paris  was  only  with  a  weekly  London  paper  as  yet; 
and  hence  that  he  had  on  his  hands  a  great  deal  of  leisure.  He 
could  glance  over  the  state  of  Europe  ;  give  the  latest  news 
from  the  salons,  imparted  to  him,  I  do  believe,  for  the  most  part, 
by  some  brother  hireling  scribes}  be  present  at  all  the  theatres 
by  deputy ;  and  smash  Louis  Philippe  or  Messieurs  Guizot  and 
Thiers  in  a  few  easily-turned  paragraphs,  which  cost  but  a  very 
few  houts'  labor  to  that  bold  and  rapid  pen.  A  wholesome 
though  humiliating  thought  it  must  be  to  great  and  learned 
public  writers,  that  their  eloquent  sermons  are  but  for  the  day ; 
and  that,  having  read  what  the  philosophers  say  on  Tuesday  or 
Wednesday,  we  think  about  their  yesterday's  sermons  or  essays . 
no  more.  A  score  of  years  hence  men  will  read  the  papers  of 
1863  for  the  occurrences  narrated — births,  marriages,  bankrupt- 
cies, elections,  murders,  deaths,  and  so  forth,  and  not  for  the 
leading  articles.  ""  Though  there  were  some  of  my  letters,"  Mr. 
Philip  would  say,  in  after-times,  "that  I  fondly  fancied  the  world 
would  not  willingly  let  die.  I  wanted  to  have  them  or  see  them 
reprinted  in  a  volume,  but  I  could  find  no  publisher  willing  to 
undertake  the  risk.  A  fond  being,  who  fancies  there  is  genius 
in  everything  I  say  or  write,  would  have  had  me  reprint  my  let- 
ters to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette ;  but  I  was  too  timid,  or  she,  per- 
haps, was  too  confident.  The  letters  never  were  republished. 
Let  them  pass."  They  have  passed.  And  he  sighs,  in  mention- 
ing this  circumstance;  and  I  think  tries  to  persuade  himself, 
rather  than  others,  that  he  is  an  unrecognized  genius. 

"And  then,  you  know,"  he  pleads,  " I  was  in  love,  sir,  and 
spending  all  my  days  at  Omphale's  knees.  1  did  n't  do  justice  to 
my  powers.     If  I  had  had  a  daily  paper,  I  still  think  I  might 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  219 

have  made  a  good  public  writer;  and  that  I  had  the  stuff  in  me — 
the  stuff  in  me,  sir !" 

The  truth  is,  that  if  he  had  had  a  daily  paper,  and  ten  times 
as  much  work  as  fell  to  his  lot,  Mr.  Philip  would  have  found 
means  of  pursuing  his  inclination,  as  he  ever  through  life  has 
done.  The  being  whom  a  young  man  wishes  to  see,  he  sees. 
What  business  is  superior  to  that  of  seeing  her  ?  'T  is  a  little 
Hellespontine  matter  keeps  Leander  from  his  Hero?  He  would 
die  rather  than  not  see  her.  Had  he  swum  out  of  that  difficulty 
on  that  stormy  night,  and  carried  on  a  few  months  later,  it  might 
have  been,  "  Beloved !  my  cold  and  rheumatism  are  so  severe 
that  the  doctor  says  I  must  not  think  of  cold  bathing  at  night ; 
or,  "  Dearest !  we  have  a  party  at  tea,  and  }  ou  must  n't  expect 
your  ever  fond  Lambda  to-night,"  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth. 
But  in  the  heat  of  his  passion  water  could  not  stay  him ;  tem- 
pests could  not  frighten  him;  and  in  one  of  them  he  went  down, 
while  poor  Hero's  lamp  was  twinkling  and  spending  its  best 
flame  in  vain.  So  Philip  came  from.Sestos  to  Abydos  daily — 
across  one  of  the  bridges,  and  paying  a  half-penny  toll  very 
likely — and,  late  or  early,  poor  little  Charlotte's  virgin  lamps 
were  lighted  in  her  eyes,  and  watching  for  him. 

Philip  made  many  sacrifices,  mind  you — sacrifices  which  all 
men  are  not  in  the  habit  of  making.  When  Lord  Ringwood 
was  in  Paris,,  twice,  thrice  he  refused  to  dine  with  his  lordship, 
until  that  nobleman  smelled  a  rat,  as  the  saying  is,  and  said, 
"  Well,  youngster,  I  suppose  you  are  going  where  there  is  metal 
more  attractive.  When  you  come  to  twelve  lustres,  my  boy, 
you  '11  find  vanity  and  vexation  in  that  sort  of  thing,  and  a  good 
dinner  better,  and  cheaper,  too,  than  the  best  of  them."  And. 
when  some  of  Philip's  rich  college  friends  met  him  in  his  exile, 
and  asked  him  to  the  Rocher  or  the  Trois  Freres,  he  would 
break  away  from  those  banquets;  and  as  for  meeting  at. those 
feasts  doubtful  companions,  whom  young  men  will  sometimes 
invite  to  their  entertainments,  Philip  turned  from  such  with 
scorn  and  anger.  His  virtue  was  loud,  and  he  proclaimed  it 
loudly.  He  expected  little  Charlotte  to  give  Tiim  credit  for  it, 
and  told  her  of  his  self-denial.  And  she  believed,  anything  he 
said  ;  and  delighted  in  everything  he  wrote  ;  and  copied  out  his 
articles  for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazelle ;  and  treasured  his  poems  in 
her  desk  of  desks;  and  there  never  was  in  all  Sestos,  in  all  Aby- 
dos, in  all  Europe,  in  all  Asia  Minor  or  Asia  Major,  such  a  noble 
creature  as  Leander,  Hero  thought  ;  never,  never !  I  hope, 
young  ladies,  you  may  all  have  a  Leander  on  his  way  to  the 
tower  where  the  light  of  your  love  is  burning  steadfastly.  I 
hope,  young  gentlemen,  you  have  each  of  you  a  beacon  in  sight, 
and  may  meet  with  no  mishap  in  swimming  to  it. 

From  my  previous  remarks  regarding  Mrs.  Baynes,  the  reader 
has  been  made  aware  that  the  general's  wife  was  no  more  fault- 


220  THE   ADVENTURES    OF   THILIP 

less  than  the  rest  of  her  fellow-creatures ;  and  having  already 
caudidly  informed  the  public  that  the  writer  and  his  family  were 
no.  favorites  of  this  lady,  I  have  now  the  pleasing  duty  of  re- 
cording my  own  opinions  regarding  her.  Mrs.  General  B.  was 
an  early  riser.  She  was  a  frugal  woman ;  fond  of  her  young, 
or,  let  us  say,  anxious  to  provide  for  their  maintenance ;  and 
here,  with  my  best  compliments,  I  think  the  catalogue  of  her 
good  qualities  is  ended.  She  had„a  bad,  violent  temper;  a  dis- 
agreeable person,  attired  in  very  bad  taste  ;  a  shrieking  voice  ; 
and  two  manners,  the  respectful  and  the  patronizing,  which  were 
both  alike  odious.  AVhen  she  ordered  Bay nes  to  marry  her, 
Gracious  Powers,  why  did  he  not  run  away  ?  Who  dared  first 
to  say  that,  marriages  are  made  in  heaven  V  We  know  that 
there  are  not  only  blunders,  but  roguery,  in  the  marriage  office. 
Do  not  mistakes  occur  every  day,  and  are  not  the  wrong  people 
coupled  ?  Had  heaven  anything  to  do  with  the  bargain  by 
w.hfcli  young  Miss  Blushrose  was  sold  to  old  Mr.  Hoarfrost  ? 
Did  heaven  order  young  Miss  Tripper  to  throw  over  poor  Tom 
Spooner  and  marry  the  wealthy  Mr.  Bung?  You  may  as  well 
say  that  horses  are  sold  in  heaven,  which,  as  you  know,  are 
groomed,  are  doctored,  are  chanted  on  to  the  market,  and  war- 
ranted by  dexterous  horse-venders  as  possessing  every  quality 
of  blood,  pace,  temper,  age.  Against  these  Mr.  Greenhorn  has 
his  remedy  sometimes ;  but  against  a  mother  who  sells  you  a 
warranted  daughter,  what  remedy  is  there  V  You  have  been 
jockeyed  by  false  representations  into  bidding  for  the  Cecilia, 
and  the  animal  is  yours  for  life.  She  shies,  kicks,  stumbles,  has 
an  infernal  temper,  is  a  crib-biter — and  she  was  warranted  to 
you  by  her  mother  as  the  most  perfect,  good-tempered  creature, 
whom  the  most  timid  might  manage  !  You  have  bought  her. 
She  is  yours.  Heaven  bless  you  !  Take  her  home,  and  be  mis- 
erable for  the  rest  of  your  days.  You  have  no  redress.  You 
have  done  the  deed.  Marriages  were  made  in  heaven,  you 
know;  and  in  yours  you  were  as  much  sold  as  Moses  Primrose 
was  when  he  bought  the  gross  of  green  spectacles. 

I  don't  think  poor  General  Baynes  ever  had  a  proper  sense  of 
his  situation,  or  knew  how  miserable  he  ought  by  rights  to  have 
been.  He  was  not  uncheerful  at  times:  a  silent  man,  liking  his 
rubber  and  his  glass  of  wine  ;  a  very  weak  person  in  the  com- 
mon affairs  of  life,  as  his  best  friends  must  own  ;  but,  as  I  have 
heard,  a  very  tiger  in  action.  "  I  know  your  opinion  of  the 
general,"  Philip  used  to  say  to  me,  in  his  grandiloquent  way ; 
"you  despise  men  who  don't  bully  their  wives;  you  do,  sir! 
You  think  the  general  weak,  I  know,  I  know.  Other  brave  men 
were  so  about  women,  as  I  dare  say  you  have  heard.  This  man, 
so  weak  at  home,  was  mighty  on  the  war-path  ;  and  in  his  wig- 
wam are  the  scalps  of  countless  warriors." 

"  In  his  wig  what  ?"'  sa"y  I.     The  truth  is,  on  his  meek  head 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  221 

the  general  wore  a  little  curling  chestnut  topknot,  which  looked 
very  queer  and  out  of  place  over  that  wrinkled  and  war-worn 
face. 

''  If  you  choose  to  laugh  at  your  joke,  pray  do,"  says  Phil, 
majestically.  "  I  make  a  noble  image  of  a  warrior.  You  pre- 
fer a  barber's  pole.  Don!  Pass  me  the  wine.  The  veteran 
whom  T  hope  to  salute  as  father  ere  Jong — the  soldier  of  twenty 
battles;  who  saw  my  own  brave,  grandfather  die  at  his  side — 
die  at  Busaco,  by  George !  yon  laugh  at  on  account  of  his  Wis. 
ft  's  a  capital  joke."  And  here  Phil  scowled  and  slapped  the. 
table,  and  passed  his  hands  across  his  eves,  as  though  the  death 
of  his  grandfather,  which  occurred  long  before  Philip  was  born, 
caused  him  a  very  serious  pang  of  grief.  Philip's  newspaper 
business  brought  him  to  London  on  occasions.  I  think  it  was  on 
one  of  these  visits  that  we  had  our  talk  about  General  Baynes. 
And  it  was  at  the  same  time  Philip  described  the.  boarding-house 
to  us,  and  its  inmates,  and  the  landlady,  and  the  doings  there. 

For  that  struggling  landlady,  as  for  all  women  in  distress,  our 
friend  had  a  great  sympathy  and  liking ;  and  she  returned  Phi- 
lip's kindness  by  being  very  good  to  Mademoiselle  Charlotte,  and 
very  forbearing  with  the  general's  wife  and  his  other  children. 
The  appetites  of  those  little  ones  was  frightful,  the  temper  of 
Madame  la  Generale  was  almost  intolerable,  but  Charlotte  was 
an  angel,  and  the  general  was  a  mutton — a  true  mutton.  Her 
own  father  had  been  so.  The  brave  are  often  muttons  at  home. 
I  suspect  that,  though  madame  could  have  made  but  little  profit 
by  the  general's  family,  his  monthly  payments  were  very  wel- 
come to  her  meagre  little  exchequer.  "Ah  !  if  all  my  locataries 
were  like  him  !"  sighed  the  poor  lady.  ''That  Madame  Bohle.ro, 
whom  the  generaless  treats  always  as  honorable,  I  wish  I  was  as 
sure  of  her  !     And  others  again  !" 

I  never  kept  a  boarding-house,  but  I  am  sure  there  must  be 
many  painful  duties  attendant  on  that  profession.  What  cau 
you  do  if  a  lady  or  gentleman  does  n't  pay  his  bill?  Turn  him 
or  her  out?  Perhaps  the  very  thing  that  lady  or  gentleman 
would  desire.  They  go.  Those  trunks  which  you  have  insanely 
detained,  and  about  which  you  have  made  a  fight  and  a  scandal, 
do  not  contain  a  hundred  francs'  worth  of  goods,  and  your  credi- 
tors never  come  back  again.  You  do  not  like  to  have  a  row  in 
a  boarding-house  any  more  than  you  would  like  to  have  a  party 
with  scarlet-fever  in  your,  best  bedroom.  The  scarlet-fever  par- 
ty stays,  and  the  other  boarders  go  away.  What,  you  ask,  do  I 
mean  by  this  mystery  ?  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  give  up  names, 
and  titled  names.  I  am  sorry  to  say  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero 
did  not  pay  her  bills.  She  was  waiting  for  remittances,  which 
the  Honorable  Boldero  was  dreadfully  remiss  in  sending.  A 
dreadful  man  !  He  was  still  at  his  lordship's  at  Gaberlunzie 
Castle,  shooting  the  wild  deer  and  hunting  the  roe.     And  though 


222  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

the  Honorable  Mrs.  B.'s  heart  was  in  the  Highlands,  of  course, 

how  could  she  join  her  Highland  chief  without  the  money  to  pay 
madarne?  The  Highlands,  indeed!  One  dull  day  it  came  out 
th'nt  the  Honorable  Boidero  was  amusing  himself  in  the  -High- 
lands of  Hesse  Hombourg,  and  engaged  in  the  dangerous  sport 
which  is  to  be  had  in  the  green  plains  about  Loch  Badenbaden- 
och!   . 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  depravity  ?  The  woman  is  a  des- 
perate and  unprincipled  adventuress !  I  wonder  madame  dares 
to  put  me  and  my  children  and  my  general  down  at  table  with 
such  people  as  those,  Philip  !"  cries  Madame  la  Generale.  "  I 
mean  those  opposite — that  woman  and  her  two  daughters,  who 
have  n't  paid  madame  a  shilling  for  three  months — who  owes  me 
five  hundred  francs,  which  she  borrowed  until  next  Tuesday, 
expecting  a  remittance — a  pretty  remittance  indeed — from  Lord 
Strongitharm.  Lord  Strongitharm,  I  dare  say  !  And  she  pre- 
tends to  be  most  intimate  at  the  embassy  ;  and  that  she  would 
introduce  us  there,  and  at  the  Tuileries ;  and  she  told  me  Lady 
Garterton  had  the  small-pox  in  the  house ;  and  when  I  said  all 
ours  had  been  vaccinated,  and  I  did  n't  mind,  she  fobbed  me  off 
with  some  other  excuse  ;  and  it 's  my  belief  the  woman  's  a  hum- 
bug. Overhear  me  !  I  don't  care  if  she  does  overhear  me.  No. 
You  may  look  as  much  as  you  like,  my  Honorable  Mrs.  Boidero; 
and  I  don't  care  if  you  do  overhear  me.  Ogoost  !  Pomdytare 
pour  le  generale.  How  tough  madame's  boof  is,  and  it's  boof, 
boof,  boof  a\ery  day,  till  I  'm  sick  of  boof.  Ogoost !  why  don't 
you  attend  to  my  children  ?"     And  so  forth. 

By  this  report  of  the  worthy  woman's  conversation,  you  will 
see  that  the  friendship  which  had  sprung  up  between  the  two 
ladies  had  come  to  an  end,  in  consequence  of  painful  pecuniary 
disputes  between  them;  that  to  keep  a  boarding-house  can't  be 
a  very  pleasant  occupation  ;  and  that  even  to  dine  in  a  boarding- 
house  must  be  only  bad  fun  when  the  company  is  frightened  and 
dull,  and  when  there  are  two  old  women  at  table  ready  to  fling 
the  dishes  at  each  other's  fronts.  At  the  period  of  which  I  now 
write,  I  promise  you  there  was  very  little  of  the  piano-duet 
business  going  on  after  dinner.  In  the  first  place,  everybody 
knew  the  girl's  pieces;  and  when  they  began,  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  would  lift,  up  a  voice  louder  than  the  jingling  old  instru- 
ment, thumped  Minna  and  Brenda  ever  so  loudly.  "Perfect 
strangers  to  me,  Mr.  Clancy,  I  assure  you.  Had  I  known  her, 
you  don't  suppose  I  would  have  lent  her  the  money.  Honorable 
Mrs.  Boidero,  indeed  I  Five  weeks  she  has  owed  me  five  hun- 
dred frongs.  Bong  swor,  Monsieur  Bidois !  Sang  song  frong 
pas  payy  encor.  Pionuny,  pas  payy."  Fancy,  I  say,  what  a 
dreary  life  that  must  have  been  at  the  select  boarding-house, 
where  these  two  parties  were  doing  battle  daily  after  dinner. 
Fancy,  at  the  select  soirees,  the  general's  lady  seizing  upon  one 


ON   HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  223 

guest  after  another,  and  calling  out  her  wrongs,  and  pointing  to 
the    wrong-doer;    and  poor  Madame    Smolensk,  smirking  and 
smiling,  and  flying  from  one  end  of  the  salon  to  the  other,  and 
thanking  M.  Pivoine  for  his  charming  romance,  and  M.  Brumm 
for  his  admirable  performance  on  the  violoncello,  and  even  ask- 
ing those  poor  Miss  Boldcros  to  perform  their  duet' — for  her  heart, 
melted  toward  them.     Not  ignorant  of  evil,  she  had  learned  to 
succor  the.  miserable.     She  knew  what  poverty  was,  and  had  to 
coax   scowling  duns  and  wheedle   vulgar  creditors.     "  Tenez, 
Monsieur  Philippe,"  she  said,  u  the  general  is  too  cruel.    There  are 
others  here  who  might  complain,  and  are  silent."     Philip  felt  all 
this  ;  the  conduct  of  his  future  mother-in-law  filled  him  with  dis- 
may and  horror.     And  some  time  after  these  remarkable  circum- 
stances, he  told  me,  blushing  as  he  spoke,  a  humiliating  secret. 
41  Do  you  know,  sir,"  says  lie,  "  that  that  autumn  I  made  a  pretty 
good  thing  of  it  with  one  thing  or  another.     I  did  my  work  for 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette;   and  Smith,  of  the  Daily  Intelligence, 
wanting  a  month's  holiday,  gave  me  his  letter  and  ten  francs  a 
day.     And  at  that  very  time  I  met  Redman,  who  had  owed  me 
twenty  pounds  ever  since  we  were  at  college,  and  who  was  just 
coming  bacjs:  flush  from  Hombourg,  and  paid  me.     Well,  now. 
Swear  you  won't  tell.     Swear  on  your  faith  as  a  christian  manl 
With  this  money  I  went,  sir,  privily  to  Mrs.  Boldero.     I  said  if 
she  would  pay  the  dragon — I  mean  Mrs.  Baynes — I  would  lend 
her  the  money.     And  I  did  lend  her  the  money,  and  the  Bolde- 
ro never  paid  back  Mrs.  Baynes.     Don't  mention  it.     Promise 
me  you  won't  tell  Mrs.  Baynes.     I  never  expected  to  get  lled- 
man's  money,  you  know,  and  am  no  woise  off  than  before.     One 
day  of  the  Grandes  Eaux  we  went  to  Versailles,  I  think,  and  the 
Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  gave  us  the  slip.     She  left  the  poor 
girls  behind  her  in  pledge,  who,  to  do  them  justice,  cried  and 
were  in  a  dreadful  way  :  and  when  Mrs.  Baynes,  on  our  return, 
began  shrieking  about  her  '  sang  song  frong,'  Madame  Smolensk 
fairly  lost  patience  for  once,  and  said,  '  Mais,-madame,  vous  nous 
fatiguez  avec  vos  cinque  cent  francs,'  on  which  the  other  mut- 
tered something  about  'Arsolong,'  but  was  briskly  taken  up  by 
her  husband,  who  said,  '  By  George,  Eliza,  madame  is  quite  right. 
And  I  wish  the  five  hundred  francs  were  in  the  sea.'" 

Thus,  you  understand,  if  Mrs.  General  Baynes  thought  some 
people  were  "  stuck-up  people,"  some  people  can — and  hereby 
do  by  these  presents — pay  off'  Mrs.  Baynes,  by  furnishing  the 
public  with  a  candid  opinion  of  that  lady's  morals,  manners,  and 
character.  How  could  such  a  shrewd  woman  be  dazzled  so  re- 
peatedly by  ranks  and  titles?  There  used  to  dine  at  Madame 
Smolensk's  boarding-house  a  certain  German  baron,  with  a  large 
finger  ring,  upon  a  dingy  tinger,  toward  whom  the  lady,  was 
pleased  to  cast  the  eve  of  favor,  and  who  chose  to  fall  in  love 
with  her  pretty  daughter.     Young  Mr.  Clancy,  the  Irish  poet, 


224  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 


was  also  smitten  with  the  charms  of  the  fair  young  lady,  and  this 
intrepid  mother  encouraged  both  suitors,  to  the  unspeakable  ago- 
nies of  Philip  Firmin,  who  felt  often  that  while  he  was  awayat 
his  work  these  inmates  of  Madame  Smolensk's  house  were  near 
his  charmer — at  her  side  at  lunch,  ever  handing  her  the  cup  at 
break  fast,  on  the  watch  for  her  when  she  walked  forth  in  the 
garden  ;  and  I  take  the  pangs  of  jealousy  to  have  formed  a  part 
of  those  unspeakable  sufferings  which  Philip  said  he  endured  in 
tke  house  whither  he  came  courting. 

Little  Charlotte,  in  one  or  two  of  her  letters  to  her  friends  in 
Queen  square,  London,  meekly  complained  of  Philip's  tendency 
to  jealousy.  u  Docs  he  think,  after  knowing  him,  I  can  think  of 
these  horrid  men  V"  she  asked.  "  I  don't  understand  what  Mr. 
Clancy  is  talking  about,  when  he  comes  to  me  with  his  'pomes 
and  potry ;'  and  who  can  read  poetry  like  Philip  himself?  Then 
the  German  baron — who  does  not  call  even  himself  baron — it  is 
mamma  who  will  insist  upon  calling  him  so — has  such  very  dirty 
tiling,  and  smells  so  of  cigars,  that  I  don't  like  to  come  near  him. 
Philip  smokes  too,  but  his  cigars  are  quite  pleasant.  Ah,  dear 
friend,  how  could  he  ever  think  such  men  as  these  were  to  be 
put  in  comparison  with  him!  And  he  scolds  so;  and  scowls  at 
the  poor  men  in  the  evening  when  he  comes !  and  his  temper  is 
so  hifh !  Do  say  a  word  to  him — quite  cautiously  and  gently, 
you  know — in  behalf  of  your  fondly  attached  and  most  happ)r — 
"only  he  will  make  me  unhappy  sometimes;  but  you  '11  prevent 
him,  won't  you  ? — Charlotte  B." 

I  could  fancy  Philip  hectoring  through  the  part  of  Othello,  and 
his  poor  young  Desdemona  not  a  little  frightened  at  his  black 
humors.  Such  sentiments  as  Mr.  Philip  felt  strongly  he  express- 
ed with  an  uproar.  Charlotte's  correspondent,  as  usual,  made 
light  of  these  little  domestic  confidences  and  grievances. 
"  Women  don't  dislike  a  jealous  scolding,"  she  said.  "  It  may  be  * 
rather  tiresome,  but  it  is  always  a  compliment.  Some- husbands 
think  so  well  of  themselves  that  they  can't  condescend  to  be 
jealous."  Yes,  I  say,  women  prefer  to  have  tyrants  over  them. 
A  scolding  you  think  is  a  mark  of  attention.  Had  n't  you  bet- 
ter adopt  the  Russian  system  at  once,  and  go  out  and  buy  me  a 
whip,  and  present  it  to  me  with  a  courtesy  and  your  compliments, 
and  a  meek  prayer  that  I  should  use  it  ?  "  Present  you  a  whip  ! 
present  you  a  goose-!"  says  the  lady,  who  encourages  scolding  in 
other  husbands,  it  sterns,  but  won't  suffer  a  word  from  her  own. 

Both  disputants  had  set  their  sentimental  hearts  on  the  mar- 
riage "of  this  young  man  and  this  young  woman.  Little  Char- 
lotte's heart  was  so  bent  on  the  match,  that  it  would  break,  we 
fancied,  if  she  were  disappointed;  and  in  her  mother's  behavior 
we  felt,  from  the  knowledge  we  had  of  the  woman's  disposition, 
there  was  a  serious  cause  for  alarm.  Should  a  better  offer  pre- 
sent itself,  Mrs.  Baynes,  we  feared,  would  fling  over  poor  Philip: 


ON   HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  225 

or,  it  was  in  reason  and  nature,  that  he  would  come  to  a  quarrel 
with  her,  and  in  the  course  of  the  pitched  battle  which  must  en- 
sue between  them,  he  would  fire  off  expressions  mortally  injuri- 
ous. Are  there  not 'many  people,  in  every  one's  acquaintance,  . 
who,  as  soon  as  they  have  made  a  bargain,  repent  of  it  ?  Philip, 
as  "preserver"  of  General  Baynes,  in  the  first  fervor  of  family 
gratitude  feu  that  act  of  self-sacrifice  on  the  young  man's  part, 
was  very  well.  But  gratitude  wears  out ;  or  suppose  a  woman 
says,  "  It  is  my  duty  to  my  child  to  recall  my  word,  and  not  allow 
her  to  fling  herself  away  on  a  beggar."  Suppose  that  you  and 
I,  strongly  infjinefl  to  do  a  mean  action,  get  a. good,  available, 
and  moral  motive  for  it  ?  I  trembled  for  poor  Philip's  course  of 
true  love,  and  little  Charlotte's  chances,  when  these  surmises 
crossed  my  mind.  There  was  a  hope  still  in  the  honor  and  grati- 
tude of  General  Baynes.  He  would  notVlesert  his  young  friend 
and  benefactor.  Now  General  Baynes  was  a  brave  man  of  war, 
and  so  was  John  of  Marlborough  a  brave  man  of  war;  but  it  is 
eertain  that  both  were  afraid  of  their  wives. 

.  We  have  said  by  whose  invitation  and  encouragement  Gener- 
al Baynes  was  induced  to  bring  his  family  to  the  boarding-house 
at,  Paris;  the  instigation,  namely,  of  his  friend  and  companion- 
in-arms,  the  gallant  Colonel  Bunch.  When  the  Baynes  family 
arrived  the  Bunches  were  on  the  steps  of  madame's  house,  wav- 
ing a  welcome  to  the  new-comers.  It  was,  "  Here  we  are, 
Bunch,  my  boy."  "  Glad  to  see  you,  Baynes.  Right  well  you  're 
looking,  and  so  's  Mrs.  B."  And  the  general  replies,  "And  so 
arc  you,  Bunch  ;  and  so  do  you,  Mrs.  B."  "  How  do,  boys  ?  Hoy 
dyou  do,  Miss  Charlotte/?  Come  to  show  the  Paris  fellows  what 
a  pretty  girl  is,  hey?  Blooming  like  a  rose,  Baynes!  I'm 
telling  the  general,"  cries  the  colonel  to  the  general's  lady,  "the 
girl  's  the  very  image  of  her  mother."  In  this  case  poor  Char- 
lotte must  have  looked  like  a  yellow  rose,  for  Mrs.  Baynes  was 
of  a  bilious  temperament  and  complexion,  whereas  Miss  Char- 
lotte was  as  fresh  pink  and  white  as — what  shall  we  say?  as  the 
very  freshest  strawberries  mingled  with  the  very  nicest  cream. 

The  two  old  soldiers  were  of  very  great  comfort  to  one  an- 
other. They  toddled  down  to  Galignani's  together  daily,  and 
lead  the  papers  there.  They  went  and  looked  at  the  reviews 
in  the  Carrousel,  and  ,once  or  twice  to  the  Champ  de  Mars — 
recognizing  here  and  there  the  numbers  of  the  regiments  against 
which  they  had  been  engaged  in  the  famous  ancient  wars. 
Tl?ey  did  not  brag  in  the  least  about  their  achievements;  they 
winked  and  understood  each  other.  They  got  their  old  uniforms 
out  of  their  old  boxes,  and  took  a  voiture  de  remise,  by  Jove  I 
and  went  to  be  presented  to  Louis  Philippe.  They  bought  a 
catalogue,  and  went  to  the  Louvre,  and  wagged  their  honest  old 
heads  before  the  pictures  ;  and,  I  dare  say,  win  ed  and  nudged 
each  other's  brave  old  sides  at  some  of  the  nymphs  in  the  statue 
20 


226  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   THILIP 

•rallery.  They  went  out  to  Versailles  with  their  families;  loy- 
ally stood  treat  to  the  ladies  at  the  restaurateurs  (Bunch  had 
taken  down  a  memorandum  in  his  pocket-book  from  Benyon, 
who  had  been  the  Duke's  aide-de-camp  in  the  last  campaign,  to 
"  go  to  Beauvillier's,"  only  Beauvillier's  had  been  shut  up  for 
twenty  years).  They  took  their  families  and  Charlotte  to  the 
Theatre  Francais,  to  a  tragedy;  and  they  had  books:  and  they 
said  it  was  the  most  confounded  nonsense  they  ever  saw  in  their 
lives;  and  I  am  bound  to  say  that  Bunch,  in  the  back  of  the 
box,  snored  so  that,  though  in  retirement,  he  created  quite  a 
sensation.  "Corneal,"  he  owns,  was  too  much  Tor  him:  give 
him  Shakspeare  :  give  him  John  Kemble  :  give  him  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons  :  give  him  Mrs.  Jordan.  But  as  for  this  sort  of  thing  ?  I 
think  our  play  days  are  over,  Baynes,  hey  ?  and  I  also  believe 
that  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  whose  knowledge  of  the  language 
was  imperfect  as  yet,  was  very  much  bewildered  during  the 
tragedy,  and  could  give  but  an  imperfect  account  of  it.  But 
then  Philip  Firmin  was  in  the  orchestra  stalls;  and  had  he  not* 
sent  three  bouquets  for  the  three  ladies,  regretting  that  he  could 
not  come  to  see  somebody  in  the  Champs  Elyt-ees,  because  it  was 
his  post-day,  and  he  must  write  his  letter  for  the  Pall  Mall  Ga- 
zette? There  he  was,  her  Cid  ;  her  peerless  champion  :  and  to 
give  up  father  and  mother  for  him  ?  our  little  Chimene  thought 
such  a  sacrifice  not  too  difficult.  After  that  dismal  attempt  at 
the  theatre  the  experiment  was  not  repeated.  The  old  gentle- 
men preferred  their  whist  to  tljose  pompous  Alexandrines  sung 
through  the  nose,  which  Colonel  Bunch,  a  facetious  little  colonel, 
used  to  imitate,  and,  I  am  given  to  understand,  very  badly. 
The  good  gentlemen's  ordinary  amusement  was  a  game  at 
'  cards  after  dinner ;  and  they  compared  madame's  to  an  East 
Indian  ship,  quarrels  and  all.  Selina  went  on  just  in  that  way 
on  board  the  Burrumpooter.  Always  rows  about  precedence, 
and  the  services,  and  the  deuce  knows  what !  Women  always 
will.  Selina  Bunch  went  on  in  that  way ;  and  Eliza  Baynes 
also  went  on  in  that  way;  but  I  shculd  think,  from  the  most 
trustworthy  information,  that  Eliza  was  worse  than  Selina. 

"  About  any  person  with  a  title,  that  woman  will  make  a  fool 
of  herself  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,"  remarked  Selina  of  her 
friend.  "You  remember  how  she  used  to  go  on  at  Barrackpore 
about  that  little  shrimp  Stoney  Battershy,  because  he  was  an 
Irish  viscount's  son  ?  See  how  she  flings  herself  at  the  head  of 
this  Mrs.  Boldero — with  her  airs,  and  her  paint,  and  her  black 
front.  I  can't  bear  the  woman  !  I  know  she  has  not  paid 
madame.  I  know  she  is  no  better  than  she  should  be  ;  and  to 
see  Eliza  Baynes  coaxing  her,  and  sidling  up  to  her,  and  flatter- 
ing her :  it 's  too  bad,  that  it  is  !  A  woman  who  owes  ever 
go  much  .  to  madame  !  a  woman  who  does  n't  pay  her  washer- 
woman 1" 


ON   HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  227 

"Just  like  the  Bur rumpooter over  again,  my  dear!"  cries  Colo- 
nel Bunch.     "  Yon  and  Eliza  Baynes  were  always  quarrelling ; 
that 's  the  fact.     Why  did  you  ask  her  to  come  here  ?     I  knaw 
you  would  begin  again,  as  soon  as  you  met."     And  the  truth 
was  that  these  ladies  were  always  fighting  and  making  up  again. 
u  So  you  and- Mrs.  Bunch  were  old  acquaintances?''  asked  Mrs. 
Boidero  of  her  new  friend.     "  My  dear  Mrs.  Baynes,  I  should 
hardly  have  thought  it,  your  manners  are  so  different !     Your 
friend,  if  I  may  be  so  free  as  to  speak,  has  the  camp  manner. 
You  have  not  the  camp  manner  at  all.     I  should  have  thought 
you — excuse  me  the  phrase,  but  I  'm  so  open,  and  always  speak 
my  mind  out — you  have  n't  the  jamp  manner  at  all.     You  seem 
as  if  you  were  one  of  us.     Minna!  does  n't  Mrs.  Baynes  put  you 
in  mind  of  Lady  Ilm —  V"     (The  name  is  inaudible,  in  conse- 
quence of  Mrs.  Boldero's  exceeding  shyness  in  mentioning  names; 
but  the  girls  seethe   likeness  to  dear  Lady  Hm —  at  once.) 
"And  when  you  bring  your  dear  girl  to  London  you'll  know 
the  lady  I  mean,  and  judge  for  yourself.     I  assure  you  I  am  not 
disparaging  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes,  in  comparing  you  to 
her  !"     And  so  the  conversation  goes  on.     1(  Mrs.  Major  Mac- 
Whirter  at  Tours  chose  to  betray  secrets,  she  could  give  extracts 
from  her  sister's  letters  to  show  bow  profound  was  the  impres- 
sion created  in  Mrs.  General  Baynes'  mind  by  the  professions 
and  conversation  of  the  Scotch  lady.     Did  n't  the  general  shoot 
and  love  deer-stalking  ?     The  dear  general  must  come  to  Gaber- 
lnnzie  Castle,  where  she  would  promise  him  a  Highland  welcome. 
Her  brother  Strongitharm  was  the  most  amiable  of  men  ;  adored 
her  and  her  girls:  there  was  talk  even  of  marrying  Minna  to 
the  captain,  but  she  for  her  part  could  not  endure  the  marriage 
of  first-cousins.     There  was  a  tradition  against  such  marriages 
in  their  family.     Of  three   Bolderos  and    Strongitharms   who 
married  their  first-cousins,  one   was  drowned  in   Gaberlunzie 
lake  three  weeks  after  the  marriage  ;  one  lost  his  wife  by  a  gal- 
loping consumption, .and  died  a  monk  at  -Rome;  and  the  third 
married  a  fortnight  before  the  Battle  of  Culloden,  where  he  was 
slain  at  the  head  of  the   Strongitharms.     Mrs.  Baynes  had  no 
idea  of  the  splendor  of  Gaberlunzie  Castle;   seventy  bedrooms 
and  thirteen   company  rooms  besides  the  picture-gallery !     In 
Edinburgh  the  Strongitharm  had  the  right  to  wear  his  bonnet  in 
the  presence  of  his  sovereign.     "  A  bonnet !  how  very  odd,  my 
dear  !     But  w.th  ostrich  plumes  I  dare  say  it  may  look  well, 
especially  as  the  Highlanders  wear  frocks  too  !"     "Lord  Strong- 
itharm had  no  house  in  London,  having  almost  ruined  himseif 
in  building  his  princely  cistle  in  the  north.     Mrs.  Baynes  muM 
come  there  and  meet  their  noble  relatives  and  all  the  Scottish 
nobility.     Nor  do  /care  about   ilicse   vanities,  my  dear,  but  to 
bring  my  sweet  Charlotte  into  the  world:  is  it  not  a  mother's 
dutvV"     Not    only   to   her  sister,  but    likewise    to    Charlotte's 


228  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

friends  of  Queen  square,  did  Mrs.  Baynes  impart  these  delight- 
ful news.  But  this  is  in  the  first  ardor  of  the  friendship  which 
arises  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Boldero,  and  before  those 
unpleasant  money  disputes  of  which  we  have  spoken. 

Afterward,  when  the  two  ladies  have  quarrelled  regarding  the 
memorable  "  sang  song  frong,"  1  think'  Mrs.  Bunch  came  round 
to  Mrs.  Boldero's  side.  "  Eliza  Baynes  is  too  hard  on  her.  It 
is  too  cruel  to  insult  her  before  those  two  unhappy  daughters. 
The  woman  is  an  odious  woman,  and  a  vulgar  woman,  and  a 
schemer,  and  I  always  said  so.  But  to  box  her  ears  before  her 
daughters — her  honorable  friend  of  last  week  ! — it 's  a  shame  of 
Eliza  I" 

"  My  dear,  you  'd  better  tell  her  so !"  says  Bunch  dryly.  "  But 
if  you  do,  tell  her  when  I  'm  out  of  the  way,  please  !"  And, 
accordingly,  one  day  when  the  two  old  officers  return  from  their 
stroll,  Mrs.  Bunch  informs  the  colonel  that  ^he  has  had  it  out 
with  Eliza;  and  Mrs.  Baynes,  with  a  heated  face,  tells  the  gen- 
eral that  she  and  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch  have  quarrelled ;  and  she 
is  determine  i  it  shall  be  for  the  last  time.  So  that  poor  Madame 
dc  Smolensk  has  to  interpose  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs. 
Boldero.;  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Bunch;  and  to  sit  sur- 
rounded by  glaring  eyes  and  hissing  innuendoes,  and  in  the 
midst  of  feuds  unhealable.  Of  course,  from  the  w«men  the 
quarrelling  will  spread  to  the  gentlemen.  That  always  happens. 
Poor  madame  trembles.  Again  Bunch  gives  his  neighbor  his 
word  that  it  is  like  .the  Bur rump ooter  East  Indiaman — the  Bur- 
rumpooter  in  very  bad  weather,  too. 
•  u  At  any  rate,  ive  won't  be  lugged  into  it,  Baynes,  my  boy  !" 
says  the  colonel,  who  is  of  a  sanguine  temperament,  to  his  friend. 

"  Hey,  hey!  don't  be  too  sure,  Bunch ;  don't  be  too  sure!" 
sighs  the  other  veteran,  who,  it  may  be,  is  of  a  more  despond- 
ing turn,  as,  after  a  battle  at  luncheon,  in  which  the  Amazons 
were  fiercely  engaged,  the  two  old  warriors  take  their  walk  to 
Galignaui's. 

Toward  his  Charlotte's  relatives  poor  Ph'ilip  wa<  respectful  by 
duty  and  a  sense  of  interest,  perhaps.  Before  marriage,  espe- 
cially, men  are  very  kind  to  the  rela  ives  of  the  beloved  object. 
They  pay  compliments  to  mamma ;  they  listen  to  papa's  old  sto- 
ries, and  laugh  appositely ;  they  bring  presents  for  the  innocent 
young  ones,  and  let  the  little  brothers  kick  their  shins.  Philip 
endured  the  juvenile  Bayneses  very  kindly  :  he  took  the  boys  to 
Franconi's,  and  made  his  conversation  as  suitable  as  he  could  to 
the  old  people,  lie  was  fond  of  the  old  general,  a  simple  and 
worthy  old  man  ;  and  had,  as  we  have  said,  a  hearty  sympathy 
and  respect  for  Madame  Smolensk,  admiring  her  constancy  and 
good-humor  under  her  many  trials.  But  those  who  have  perused 
his  memoirs  are  aware  that  Mr.  Firmin  could  mahe  himself,  on 
occasions,  not  a  little  disagreeable.     When  sprawling  on  a  sofa, 


ON    HI9    WAY   THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  22^ 

engaged  in  conversation  with  his  charmer,  he  would  not  budge 
when  other  ladies  entered  the  room.  He  scowled  at  them,  if  he 
did  not  like  them.  He  was  not  at' the  lease  trouble  to  conceal 
his  likes  or  dislikes.  He  had  a  manner  of  fixing  his  glass  in  his 
eye,  putting  his  thumbs  into  the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  and 
talking  and  laughing  very  loudly  at  his  own  jokes  or  conceits, 
which  was  not  pleasant  or  respectful  to  ladies.  "Your  loud 
young  friend,  with  the  cracked  boots,  is  very  mauvais  ton,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Bayncs,"  Mrs.  Boldero  remarked  to  her  new  friend, 
in  the  first  ardor  of  their  friendship.  "  A  relative  of  Lord  Ring- 
wood's,  is  he  ?  Lord  Ringwood  is  a  very  queer  person.  A  son 
of  that  dreadful  Dr.  Firmin,  who  ran  away  after  cheating 
everybody  ?  Poor  young  man  !  He  can't  help  having  such  a 
father,  as  you  say,  and  most  good,  and  kind,  and  generous  of  you 
to  say  so,  and  the  general  and  the  Honorable  Philip  Ringwood 
were  early  companions  together,  1  dare  say.  But  having  such 
an  unfortunate  father  as  Dr.  Firmin,  I  think  Mr.  Firmin  might 
be  a  little  less  jn-ononce;  don't  you  ?  And  to  see  him  in  cracked 
boots,  sprawling  over  the  sofas,  and  hear  him,  when  my  loves  are 
playing  their  duets,  laughing  and  talking  so  very  loud,  I  confess 
is  n't  pleasant  to  me.  I  am  not  used  to  that  kind  of  monde,  nor 
are  my  dear  loves.  You  are  under  gr^at  obligations  to  him,  and 
he  has  behaved  nobly,  you  say  ?  Of  course.  To  get  into  your 
society  an  unfortunate  young  man  will  be  on  his  best  behavior, 
though  he  certainly  does  not  condescend  to  be  civil  to  us.  But 
.  .  .  .  What?  That  young  man  engaged  to  that  lovely, 
innocent,  charming  child,  your  daughter  ?  My  dear  creature, 
you  frighten  me  !  A  man  with  such  a  father  ;  and,  excuse  me, 
with  such  a  manner  ;  and  without  a  penny  in  the  world,  en- 
gaged to  Miss  Baynes  !  Goodness,  powers  !  It  must  never  be  ! 
It  shall  not  be,  my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes !  Why,  I  have  written  to 
my  nephew  Hector  to  come  ovt  r,  Strongitharm's  favorite  son 
and  my  favorite  nephew.  I  have  told  him  that  there  is  a  sweet 
young  creature  here,  whom  he  must  and  ought  to  see.  How 
well  that  dear  child  would  look  presiding  at  Strongitharm  Cas- 
tle !  And  you  are  going  to  give  her  to  that  dreadful  young  man 
with  the  loud  voice  and  the  cracked  boots — that  smoky  young 
man — oh,  impossible!" 

Madame  had,  no  doubt,  given  a  very  favorable  report  of  her 
new  lodgers  to  the  other  inmates  of  her  house;  and  she  and  Mrs. 
Boldero  had  concluded  that  all  general  officers  returning  from 
India  were  immensely  rich.  To  think  that  her  daughter  might 
be  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Strongitharm,  Baroness  Strongitharm, 
and  walk  in  a  coronation  in  robes,  with  a  coronet  in  her  hand. 
Mrs.  Baynes  yielded  in  loyalty  to  no  woman,  but  -I  fear  her 
wicked  desires  compassed  a  speedy  royal  demise,  as  this  (Jiought 
passed  through  her  mind  of  the  Honorable  Lenox  Strongitharm. 
She  looked  him  out  in  the  Peerage,  and  found  that  young  noble- 


23  0  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

% 

man  designated  as  the  Captain  of  Strongitharai.  Charlotte 
might  be  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Captain  of  Strongitharm  !  When 
poor  Phil  stalked  in  after  dinner  that  evening  iri  his  shabby- 
boots  and  smoky  paletot,  Mrs.  Baynes  gave  him  but  a  grim  wel- 
come. He  went  and  prattled  unconsciously  by  the  side  of  his 
little  Charlotte,  whose  tender  eyes  dwelt  upon  his,  and  whose 
fair  cheeks  flung  out  their  blushes  of  welcome.  He  prattled 
away.  He  laughed  out  loud  while  Minna  and  Brenda  were 
thumping  their  duet.  "  Taisez-vous  'done,  Monsieur  Philippe," 
cries  madame,  putting  her  finger  to  her  lip.  The  Honorable 
Mrs.  Boldero  looked  at  dear  Mrs.  Baynes,  and  shrugged  her 
'shoulders.  Poor  Philip  !  would  he  have  laughed  so  loudly  (and 
so  rudely,  too,  as  I  own)  had  he  known  what  was  passing  in  the 
minds  of  those  women  ?  Treason  was  passing  there  :  and  be- 
fore that  glance  of  knowing  scorn,  shot  from  the  Honorable 
Mrs.  Boldero's  eyes,  dear  Mrs.  General  Baynes  faltered.  How 
very  curt  and  dry  she  was  with  Puilip!  how  testy  with  Char- 
lotte !  Poor  Philip,  knowing  that  his  charmer  was  in  the  power 
of  her  mother,  was  pretty  humble  to  this  dragon ;  and  attempted, 
by  uncouth  flatteries,  to  soothe  and  propitiate  her.  She  had  a 
queer,  dry  humor,  and  loved  a  joke;  but  Phil's  fell  very  flat  this 
night.  Mrs.  Baynes  received  his  pleasantries  with  an  "  Oh,  in- 
deed !  .She  was  sure  she  heard  one  of  the  children  crying  in 
their  nursery.  Do,  pray,  go  and  see,  Charlotte,  what  that  child  is 
crying  about."  And  away  goes  poor  Charlotte,  having  but  dim 
presentiment  of  misfortune  as  yet.  Was  not  mamma  often  in 
an  ill-humor ;  and  were  they  not  all  used  to  her  scoldings  ? 

As  for  Mrs.  Colonel.  Bunch,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that,  up  to  this 
time,  Philip  was  not  only  no  favorite  with  her,  but  was  heartily 
disliked  by  that  lady.  I  have  told  you  our  friend's  faults.  He 
was  loud  :  he  was  abrupt :  he  was  rude  often  ;  and  often  gave 
just  cause  of  annoyance  by  his  laughter,  his  disrespect,  and  his 
swaggering  manner.  To  those  whom  he  liked  he  was  as  gentle 
as  a  woman,  and  treated  them  with  an  extreme  tenderness  and 
touching  rough  respect.  But  those  persons  about  whom  he  was 
indifferent  he  never  took  the  least  trouble  to  conciliate  or  please. 
If  they  told  long  stories,  for  example,  he  would  turn  on  his  heel, 
or  interrupt  them  by  observations  of  his  own  on  some  quite 
different  subject.  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  then,  positively  disliked 
that  young  man,  and  I  think  had  very  good  reasons  for  her  dis- 
like. As  for  Bunch,  Bunch  said  to  Baynes,  "  Cool  hand,  that 
young  fellow  !"  and  winked.  And  Baynes  said  to  Bunch,  "  Queer 
chap.  Fine  fellow,  as  I  have  reason  to  know  pretty  well.  I 
play  a  club.  No  club.  I  mark  honors  and  two  tricks."  And 
the  game  went  on.  Clancy  hated  Philip,  a  meek  man  whom 
Firmin  had  yet  managed  to  offend.  "  That  man,"  the  Pote 
Clancy  remarked,  "has  a  manner  of  treading  on  me  corrans 
which  is  intolerable  to  me  !"     The  truth  is,  Philip  was  always 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  231 

putting  his  loot  on  some  other  foot,  and  trampling  it.  And  as 
for  the  Boldero  clan,  Mr.  Firmin  treated  them  with  the  mo3t 
amusing  insolence,  and  ignored  them  as  if  they  were  out  of  ex- 
istence altogether.  So  you  see  the  poor  fellow  had  not  with  his 
poverty  learned  the  least  lesson  of  humility,  or  acquired  the 
very  earliest  rudiments  of  the  art  of  making  friends.  I  think 
his  best  friend  in  the  house  was  its  mistress,  Madame  Smolensk. 
Mr.  Philip  treated  her  as  an  equal :  which  mark  of  affability  he 
was  not  in  the  habit  of  bestowing  on  all  persons.  Some,  great 
people,  some  rich  people,  some  would-be-line  people,  he  would 
patronize  with  an  insufferable  audacity.  Rink  or  wealth  do  not 
seem  somehow  to  influence  this  man  as  they  do  common  mortals. 
He  would  tap  a  bishop  on  the  waistcoat,  and  contradict  a  duke 
at  their  first  meeting.  I  have  seen  him  walk  out  of  church  dur- 
ing a  stupid  sermon,  with  an  audible  remark  perhaps  to  that 
effect,  and  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  course  that  he  should  go.  If 
the  company  bored  him  at  dinner,  he  would  go  to  sleep  in  the 
most  unaffected  manner.  At  home  we  were  always  kept  in  a 
pleasant  state  of  anxiety,  not  only  by  what  he  did  and  said, 
but  by  the  idea  of  what  he  might  do  or  say  next.  He  did  not 
go  to  sleep  at  madame's  boirding-house,  preferring  to  keep  his 
eyes  open  to  look  at  pretty  Charlotte's  And  were  there  ever 
such  sapphires  as  his  ?  she  thought.  And  hers  ?  Ah,  if  they 
have  tears  to  shed,  I  hope  a  kind  fate  will  dry  them  quickly  1 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

TREATS   OF    DANCING,   DINING,    DYING. 

Old  school-boys  remember  how,  when  pious  iEneas  was  com- 
pelled by  pain'ul  circumstances  to  quit  his  country,  he  and  his 
select  band  of  Trojans  founded  a  new  Troy,  where  they  landed; 
raising  temples  to  the  Trojan  gods  ;  building  streets  with  Trojan 
names ;  and  endeavoring,  to  the  utmost  of  their  power,  to  re- 
call their  beloved  native  place.  In  like  manner,  British  Trojans 
and  French  Trojans  taj^e  their  Troy  everywhere.  Algiers  I 
have  only  seen  from  the  sea ;  but  New  Orleans  and  Leicester 
square  I  have  visited  ;  and  have  seen  a  quaint  old  France  still 
lingering  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi ;  a  dingy  modern 
France  round  that  great  Globe  of  Mr.  Wyld's,  which  they  say  is 
coming  to  an  end.  There  are  French  cafes,  billiards,  estaminets, 
waiter?,  markers,  poor  Frenchmen,  and  rich  Frenchmen,  in  a 
new  Paris,  shabby  and  dirty,  it  is  true,  but  offering  the  emigrant 
the  dominoes,  the  chopinn,  the  petite-verre  of  the  patrie.  And 
do  not  British  Trojans,  who  emigrate  to  the  continent  of  Europe, 
take  their   Troy  with   them?  "You  all   know  the  quarters  of 


282  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Paris  which  swarm  with  us  Trojans.  From  Peace  street  to  the 
Arch  of  the  Star  are  collected  thousands  of  refugees  from  our 
Ilium.  Under  the  arcades  of  the  Rue  de  Rfvrili  you  me£t,  at 
certain  hours,  as  many  of  our  Trojans  as  of  the  natives.  In  the 
Trojan  inns  of  Meurice,  the  Louvre,  etc.,  we  swarm.  We  have 
numerous  Anglo-Trojan  doctors  and  apothecaries,  who  give  us 
the  dear  pills  and  doses  of  Pergamus.  We  go  to  Mrs.  Guerre  or 
kind  Mrs.  Colombin,  and  can  purchase  the  sandwiches  of  Troy, 
the  pale  ale  and  sherry  of  Troy,  and  the  dear,  dear  muffins  of 
home.  We  live  for  years,  never  speaking  any  language  but  our 
native  Trojan  ;  except  to  our  servants,  whom  we  instruct  in  the 
Trojan  way  of  preparing  toast  for  breakfast ;  Trojan  bread-sauce 
for  fowls  and  partridges;  Trojan  corned  beef,  etc.  We  have 
temples  where  we  worship  according  to  the  Trojan  rites.  A 
kindly  sight  is  that  which  one  beholds  of  a  Sunday  in  the  Elysian 
fields  and  the  St.  Honore  quarter,  of  processions  of  English 
grown  people  and  children,  stalwart,  red-cheeked"^  marching  to 
their  churches,  their  gilded  prayer-books  in  hand,  to  sing  in  a 
stranger's  land  the  sacred  songs  of  thair  Zion.  1  am  sure  there 
are  many  English  in  Paris  wi  o  never  speak  to  any  native  above 
the  rank  of  a  waiter  or  shopman.  Not  long  since  I  was  listening 
to  a  Frenchman  at  Folkestone  speaking  English  to  the  waiters, 
and  acting  as  interpreter  for  his  party.  He  spoke  pretty  well 
and  very  quickly.  He  was  irresistibly  comical.  I  wonder  how 
we  maintained  our  gravity  And  you  and  I,  my  dear  friend, 
when  we  speak  French  ?  I  dare  say  we  are  just  as  absurd.  As 
absurd  ?  And  why  not  ?  Don't  you  be  discouraged,  young 
fellow.  Courage,  mon  jeune  ami!  Remember,  Trojan s  have  a 
conquering  way  with  them.  When  iEneas  landed  at  Carthage, 
I  dare  say  he  spoke  Carthaginian  with  a  ridiculous  Trojan  ac- 
cent ;  but  for  all  that  poor  Dido  fell  desperately  in  love  with  him. 
Take  example  by  the  son  of  Anchises,  my  boy.  Never  mind 
the  grammar  or  the  pronunciation,  but  tackle  the  lady  and 
speak  your  mind  to  her  as  best  you  can. 

This  is  the  plan  which  the  Vicomte  de  Loisy  used  to  adopt. 
He  was  following  a  cows  of  English  according  to  the  celebrated 
me'thode  Jobson.  The  cows  assembled  twice  a  week  ;  and  the 
vicomte,  with  laudable  assiduity,  wen!  to  all  English  parties  to 
which  he  could  gain  an  introduction,  for  the  purpose -of  acquir- 
ing the  English  language,  and  marrying  une  Anglaise.  This  in- 
dustrious young  man  even  went  au  Temple  on  Sundays  for  the 
purpose  of  familiarizing  himself  with  the  English  language; -and 
as  he  sat  under  Doctor  Murrogh  Macmanus  of  T.  C.  D.,  a  very 
eloquent  preacher  at  Paris  in  those  days,  the  vicomte  acquired  a 
very  fine  pronunciation.  Attached  to  the  cause  of  unfortunate 
monarchy  all  over  the  world,  the  vicomte  had  fought  in  the 
Spanish  earliest  armies.  He  waltzed  well :  and  madame  thought 
bis  croES  looked  nice  at  her  parties.     Will  it  be  believed  that 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  233 

Mrs.  General  Baynes  took  this  gentleman  into  special  favor  ; 
talked  with  hinf  at  soiree  after  soiree  ;  never  laughed  at  his  Eng- 
lish ;  encouraged  her  girl  to.  waltz  with  him  (which  he  did  to 
perfection,  whereas  poor  Philip  was  but  a  hulking  and  clumsy 
.performer)  ;  and  showed  him  the  greatest  favor,  until  one  day, 
on  going  into  Mrs.  Bonus',  the  house  agent  (who  lets  lodgings, 
and  sells  British  pickles,  tea,  sherry,  and  the  like),  she  found  the 
vicomte  occupying  a  stool  as  clerk  in  Mr.  Bonus'  establishment, 
where  for  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year  he  gave  his  invaluable 
services  during  the  day!  Mrs.  Ba)  nes  took  poor  madame  se- 
verely to  task  for  admitting  such  a  man  to  her  assemblies. 
Madame  was  astonished.  Monsieur  was  a  gentleman  of  ancient 
family  who  had  met  with  misfortunes.  He  was  earning  his  main- 
tenance. To  sit  in  a  bureau  was  not  a  dishonor.  Knowing  that 
boutique  meant  shop  and  gareon  meant  boy,  Mrs.  Baynes  made 
use  of  the  words  boutique  gareon  the  next  time  she  saw  the 
vicomte.  The  little  man  wept  tears  of  rage  and  mortification. 
There  was  a  very  painful  scerie,  at  which,  thank  Mercy,  poor 
Charlotte  thought,  Philip  was  not  present.  Were  it  not  for  the 
general's  cheveux  blancs  (by  which  phrase  the  vicomte  very 
kindly  designated  General  Baynes'  chestnut  topknot)  the 
vicomte  would  have  had  reason  fiom  him.  "  Charming  Miss," 
he  said  to  Charlotte,  "your  respectable  papa  is  safe  from  my 

-  sword  !  Madame,  your  mamma  has  addressed  me  words  which 
I  qualify  not.  But  you — you  are*  too  'andscme,  too  good,  to 
despise  a  poor  soldier,  a  poor  gentleman  1"  1  have  heard  the 
vicomte  still  dances  at  boarding-houses,  and  is  still  in  pursuit  of 
an  Ariglake.  He  must  be  a  wooer  now  almost  as  elderly  as  the 
good  general  whose  scalp  he  respected. 

Mrs.  Baynes  was,  to  be  sure,  a  heavy  weight  to  bear  for  poor 
madame,  but  her  lean  shoulders  were  accustomed  to  many  a 
burden  ;  and  if  the  general's  wife  was  quarrelsome  and  odious, 
Le,  as  madame  said,  was  as  soft  as  a  mutton;  and  Charlotte's 
pretty  face  and  manners  were  the  admiration  of  all.  The  yellow 
Miss  Bolderos,  those  hapless  elderly  orphans  left  in  pawn,,  might 
bite  their  lips  with  envy,  but  they  never  could  make  them  as 
red  as  Miss  Charlotte's  smiling  mouth.  To  the  honor  of  Madame 
Smolensk  be  it  said  that  never  by  word  or  hint  did  she  cause 
those    unhappy   young   ladies   any  needless   pain.     She    never 

•  stinted  them  of  any  meal.  No  full-priced  pensioner  of  madame's 
could  have  breakfast,  luncheon,  dinners,  served  more  regularly. 
The  day  after  their  mother's  flight  that  goo*d  Madame  Smolensk 
took  early  cups  of  tea  to  the  girls'  rooms  with  her  own  hands, 
and  I  believe  helped  to  do  the  hair  of  one  of  them,  and  otherwise 
to  soothe  them  in  their  misfortune.  They  could  not  keep  their 
secret.  It  must  be  owned  that  Mrs.  Baynes  never  lost  an  oppor- 
tunity of  deploring  their  situation  and  acquainting  all  new- 
comers with  their  mother's  flight  and  transgression.     But  she 


234  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

was  good-natured  to  the  captives  in  her  grim  way,  and  admired 
madauic's  forbearance  regarding  them.  The  two  old  officers 
were  now  especially  polite  to  the  poor  things,  and  the  general 
"rapped  one  of  his  boys  over  the  knuckles  for  saying  to  Miss 
Brenda,  "  If  your  uncle  is  a  lord,  why  does  n't  he  give  you  any 
money?"  "And  these  girls  used  to  hold  their  heads  above  mine,' 
and  their  mother  used  to  give  herself  such  airs  !"  cried  Mrs. 
Baynes.  "And  Eliza  Baynes  used  to  flatter  those  poor  girls  and 
their  mother,  and  fancy  they  were  going  to  make  a  woman  of 
fashion  of  her !"  said  Mrs.  Bunch.  "  We  all  have  our  weaknesses. 
Lords  are  not  yours,  my  dear.  Faith,  I  don't  -think  you  know 
one,"  says  stout  little  Colonel  Bunch.  "  I  would  n't  pay  a  duch- 
ess such  court  as  Eliza  paid  that  woman  !"  cried  Emma  ;  and  she 
made  sarcastic  inquiries  of  the  general  whether  Eliza  had  heard 
from  her  friend  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero?  But  for  all  this 
Mrs.  Bunch  pitied  the  young  ladies,  and  I  believe  gave  them  a 
little  supply  of  coin  from  her  private  purse.  A  word  as  to  their 
private  history.  Their  mamma  became  the  terror  of  boarding- 
housekeepers ;  and  the  poor  girls  practised  their  duets  all  over 
Europe.  Mrs.  Boldero's  noble  nephew,  the  present  Strongitharm 
(as  a  friend  who  knows  the  fashionable  world  informs  me),  was 
victimized  by  his  own  uncle,  and  a  most  painful  affair  occurred 
between  them  at  a  game  at  "  blind  hookey."  The  Honorable 
Mrs.  Boldero  is  living  in  the  precincts  of  Holvrood  ;  one  of  her 
daughters  is  happily  married  to  a  minister,  and  the  other  to  an 
apothecary  who  was  called  in  to  attend  her  in  quinsy.  So  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  phrase  about  "  select  "  boarding-houses  is  a 
mere  complimentary  term,  and  as  for  the  strictest  references 
being  given  and  required,  I. certainly  should  not  lay  out  extra 
money  for  printing  that  expression  in  my  advertisement  were  I 
going  to  set  up  an  establishment  myself. 

Old  college  friends  of  Philip's  visited  Paris  from  time  to  time, 
and  rejoiced  in  carrying  him  off  to  Bofel's  or  the  Trois  Freres, 
and  hospitably  treating  him  who  had  been  so  hospitable  in  his 
time.  Yes,  thanks  be  to  heaven,  there  are  good  Samaritans  in 
pretty  large  numbers  in  this  world,  and  hands  ready  enough  to 
succor  a  man  in  misfortune.  I  could  name  two  or  three  gentle- 
men who  drive  about  in  chariots  and  look  at  people's  tongues, 
and  write  queer  figures  and  queer  Latin  on  note-paper,  who 
occultly  made  a  purse  containing  some  seven  or  ten  score  fees, 
and  sent  them  out  to  Dr.  Firmin  in  his  banishment.  The  poor 
wretch  had  behaved  as  ill  as  might  be,  but  he  was  without  a 
penny  or  a  friend.  I  dare  say  Dr.  Goodenough,  among  other 
philanthropists,  put  his  hands  into  his  pocket.  Having  heartily 
disliked  and  mistrusted  Firmin  in  prosperity,  in  adversity  he 
melted  toward  the  poor  fugitive  wretch  ;  he  even  could  believe 
that  Firmin  had  some  skill  in  his  profession,  and  in  his  practice 
was  not  quite  a  quack. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  235 

Philip's  old  college  and  school  cronies  laughed  at  hearing  that, 
now  his  ruin  was  complete,  he  "Was  thinking  about  marriage. 
Such  a  plan  was  of  a  piece  with  Mr.  Firmin's  known  prudence 
and  foresight.  But  they  made  an  objection  to  his  proposed  union 
which  had  struck  us  at  home  previously.  *Papa-in-law  was  well 
enough,  or  at  least  inoffensive;  but  ah,  ye  powers!  what  a 
mother-in-law  was  poor  Phil  laying  up  for  his  future  days!  Two 
or  three  of  our  mutual  companions  made  this  remark  on  return- 
ing to  work  and  chambers  after  their  autumn  holiday.  We  never 
had  too  much  charity  for  Mrs.  Baynes;  and  what  Philip  told  119 
about  her  did  not  serve  to  increase  our  regard. 

About  Christmas  Mr.  Firmin's  own  affairs  brought  him  on  a 
brief  visit  to  London.  We  were  not  jealous  that  he  took  ujp  his 
quarters  with  his  little  friend  of  Thornhaugh  street,  who  was 
contented  that  he  should  dine  with  us,  provided  she  could  have 
the  pleasure  of  housing  him  under  her  kind  shelter.  High  and 
mighty  people  as  we  were — for  under  what  humble  roofs  does 
not  Vanity  hold  her  sway  V — we,  who  knew  Mrs.  Brandon's  virt- 
ues, and  were  aware  of  her  early  story,  would  have  condescend- 
ed to  receive  her  into  our  society;  but  it  was  the  little  lady 
herself  who  had  her  pride,  and  held  aloof.  "  My  parents  did 
not  give  me  the  education  you  have  had,  ma'am,"  Caroline  said 
to  my  wife.  "  My  place  is  not  here,  I  know  very  well ;  unless 
you  should  be  took  ill,  and  then,  ma'am,  you  '11  see  that4  will  be 
glad  enough  to  come.  Philip  can  come  and  see  me ;  and  a  bless- 
ing it  is  to  me  to  set  eyes  on  him.  But  I  should  n't  be  happy  in 
yflur  drawing-room,  nor  you  in  having  me.  The  dear  children 
look  surprised  at  my  way  of  talking;  and  no  wonder;  and 
they  laugh  sometimes  to  one  another,  God  bless  'em !  I  don't 
mind.  My  education  was  not  cared  for.  I  scarce  had  any 
schooling  but  what  I  taught  myself.  My  pa  had  n't  the  means  of 
learning  me  much :  and  it  is  too  late  to  go  to  school  at  forty  odd. 
I  've  got  all  his  stockings  and  things  darned ;  and  his  linen,  poor 
fellow  !  beautiful :  I  wish  they  kep  it  as  nice  in  France,  where 
he  is !  You  '11  give  my  love  to  the  young  lady,  won't  you,  ma'am  V 
and,  oh  !  it 's  a  blessing  to  me  to  hear  how  good  and  gentle  she  is  ! 
He  has  a  high  temper,  Philip  have  ;  but  them  he  likes  can  easy 
manage  him.  You  have  been  his  best  kind  friends ;  and  so  will 
she  be,  I  trust;  and  they  may  be  happy,  though  they  're  poor. 
But  they  've  time  to  get  rich,  have  n't  they  ?  And  it 's  not  the 
richest  that 's  the  happiest;  that  I  can  ee  in  many  a  fine  house 
where  Nurse  Brandon  goes  and  has  her  eyes  open,  though  she 
don't  say  much,  you  know."  In  this  way  Nurse  Brandon  would 
prattle  on  to  us  when  she  came  to  see  us.  She  would  share  our 
meal,  always  thanking  by  name  the  servant  who  helped  her. 
She  insisted  on  calling  our  children  "  Miss  "  and  "  Master,"  and 
I  think  those  young  satirists  did  not  laugh  often  or  unkindly  at 
her  peculiarities.     I  know  they  were  told  that  Nurse  Brandon 


236  THE    ADVEKTURKS    OF    PHILIP 

was  very  good ;  and  that  she  took  care  of  her  father  in  hi§  old 
age ;  and  that  she  had  passed  through  very  great  griefs  and 
trials ;  and  that  she  had  nursed  Uncle  Philip  when  he  had  been 
very  ill  indeed,  and  when  many  people  would  have  been 'afraid 
to  come  near  him  ;  and  that  her  life  was  spent  in  tending  the  sick, 
and  in  doing  good  to  her  neighbor. 

One  day  during  Philip's  stay  with  us  we  happen  to  read  in 
the  paper  Lord  Ringwood's  arrival  in  London.  My  lord  had  a 
grand  town-house  of  his  own  which  he  did  not  always  inhabit. 
He  liked  the  cheerfulness  of  a  hotel  better.  Ringwood  House 
was  too  large  and  too  dismal.  He  did  not  care  to  eat  a  solitary 
mutton-chop  in  a  great  dining-room  surrounded  by  ghostly 
images  of  dead  Ringwoods — his  dead  son,  a  boy  who  had  died  in 
his  boyhood;  his  dead  brother,  attired  in  the  uniform  of  his  day 
(in  which  picture  there  was  no  little  resemblance  to  Philip  Fir- 
min,  the  colonel's  grandson)  ;  Lord  Ringwood's  dead  self,  finally, 
as  he.  appeared  still  a  young  man,  when  Lawrence  painted  him, 
and  when  he  was  the  companion  of  the  Regent  and  his  friends. 
"Ah  !  that's  the  fellow  I  least  like  to  look  at," -the  old  man  would 
say,  scowling  at  the  picture,  and  breaking  out  into  the  old-fash- 
ioned oaths  which  garnished  many  conversations  in  his  young 
days.  "  That  fellow  could  ride  all  day  ;  and  sleep  all  night,  or 
go  without  sleep  as  he  chose ;  and  drink  his  four  bottles,  and 
never  have  a  headache  ;  and  break  his  collar-bone,  and  see  the 
fox  killed  three  hours  after.  That  was  once  a  man,  as  old  Marl- 
borough .said,  looking  at  his  own  picture.  Now  my  doctor  's  my 
master  :  my  doctor  and  the  infernal  gout  over  him.  I  live  upon 
pap  and  puddens,  like  a  baby ;  only  I've  shed  all  my  teeth, hang 
'em  !  If  I  drink  three  glasses  of  sherry,  my  butler  threatens  me. 
You  young  fellow,  who  have  n't' two-pence  in  your  pocket,  by 
George  !  1  -would  like  to  change  with  you.  Only  you  wouldn't, 
hang  you,  you  would  n't !  Why,  I  don't  believe  Todhunter  would 
change  with  me  ;  would  you,  Todhunter  ? — and  you  're  about  as 
fond  of  a  great  man  as  any  fellow  I  ever  knew.  Don't  tell  me. 
You  are,  sir  !  Why,  when  I  walked  with  you  on  Ryde  sands 
one  day,  I  said  to  that  fellow,  '  Todhunter,  don't  you  think  I 
could  order  the  sea -to  stand  still  V  I  did.  And  you  had  never 
heard  of  King  Canute,  hanged  if  you  had — and  never  read  any 
book  except  the  Stud-book  and  Mrs.  Glass'  Cooker)'',  hanged  if  you 
did."  Such  remarks  and  conversations  of  his  relative  has  Philip 
reported  to  me.  Two  or  three  men  about  town  had  very  good 
imitations  of  this  toothless,  growling,  blasphemous  old  cynic.  He 
was  splendid  and  penurious  ;  violent  and  easily  led  ;  surrounded 
by  flatterers  and  utterly  lonely.  He  had  old-world  notions,  which. 
I  believe  have  passed  out  of  the  manners  of  great  folks  now.  He 
thought  it  beneath  him  to  travel  by  railway,  and  his  post-chaise 
was  one  of  the  last  on  the  road.  The  tide  rolled  on  in  spite  of 
this  old  Canute,  and  has  long  since  rolled  over  him  and  his  post- 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  28  7 

« 

chaise.  Why,  almost  all  his  imitators  are  actually  dead ;  and 
only  this  year,  when  old  Jack  Mummers  gave  an  imitation  of 
him  at  Bays'  (where  Jack's  mimicry  used  to  be  received  with 
shouts  of  laughter  but  a  few  years  since),  there  was  'a  dismal  si- 
lence in  the  coffee-room,  except  from  two  or  three  young  men  at 
a  near  table,  who  said,  "  What  is  the  old  fool  mumbling  and 
swearing  at  now  ?     An  imitation  of  Lord  Ringwood,  and  who 

D  ill 

was  he  V"  So  our  names  pass  away  and  are  forgotten  ;  and  the 
tallest  statues,  do  not  the  sands  of  time  accumulate  and  over- 
whelm them  t  I  have  not  forgotten  my  lord,  any  more  than  I 
have  forgotten  the  cock  of  my  school,  about  whom,  perhaps,  you 
don't  care  to  hear.  I  see  my  lord's  bald  head,  and  hooked  beak, 
and  bushy  eyebrows,  and  tall  velvet  collar,  and  brass  buttons, 
and  great  black  mouth,  and  trembling  hand,  and  trembling  para- 
sites round  him,  and  I  can  hear  his  voice,  and  great  oaths,  and 
laughter.  You  parasites  of  to-day  are  bowing  to  other  great 
people;  and  this  great  one,  who  was  alive  only  yesterday,  is  as 
dead  as  George  IV  or  Nebuchadnezzar. 

Well,  we   happen  to  read  that  Philip's  noble  relative,  Lord 

Ilingwood,  has  arrived  at hotel,  while  Philip  is  staying  with 

us  ;  and  I  own  that  I  counsel  my  friend  to  go  and  wait  upon  his 
lordship.  He  had  been  very  kind  at  Paris;  he  had  evidently  tak-, 
en  a  liking  to  Philip.     Firmin  ou^ht  to  go  and  see  him.     Who 
knows  ?     Lord  llinjiwood  miirht  be  inclined  to  do  something  for 
his  brother's  grandson. 

This  was  just  the  point  which  any  one  who  knew  Philip  should 
have  hesitated  to  urge  upon  him.  To  try  and  make  him  bow 
and  smile  on  a  great  man  with  a  view  to  future  favors,  was  to 
demand  the  impossible  from  Firmin.  The  king's  men  may  lead 
the  king's  horses  to  the  water,  but  the  king  himself  can't  make 
them  drink.  I  own  that  I  came  back  to  the  subject,  and  urged 
it  repeatedly  on  my  friend.  "  I  have  been,"  said  Philip,  sulkily. 
"  1  have  left  a  card  upon  him.  If  he  wants  me,  he  can  send  to 
No.  120  Queen  square,  Westminster,  my  present  hotel.  But'if 
you  think  he  will  give  me  anything  beyond  a  dinner,  I  tell  you 
you  are  mistaken  V" 

We  dined  that  day  with  Philip's  employer,  worthy  Mr.  Mug- 
ford,  of  tte  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  who  was  profuse  in  his  hospitali- 
ties, and  especially  gracious  to  Philip.  Mugford  was  pleased  with 
Firmin's  letters;  and  you  may  be  sure  that  severer  critics  did 
not  contradict  their  friend's  good-natured  patron.  We  drove  to 
the  suburban  villa  at  Hampstead,  and  steaming  odors  of  soup, 
mutton,  onions,  rushed  out  into  the  hall  to  give  us  welcome,  and 
to  warn  us  of  the  good  cheer  in  store  for  the  party.  This  was 
not  one  of  Mugford's  days  for  countermanding  side-dishes,  I 
promise  you.  Meirin  black  with  noble  white  cotton  gloves  were 
in  waiting  to  receive  us,  and  Mrs.  Mugford,  in  a  rich  blue  satin 
and  feathers,  a  profusion  of  flounces,  laees,  marabouts,  je'wels, 


238  THE   ADVENTURES   OF    FHILIF 

and  eau-de-Cologne,  rose  to  welcome  us  from  a  stately  sofa, 
•where  she  sat  surrounded  by  her  children.  These,  too,  were  in 
brilliant  dresses,  with  shining  new-combed  hair.  The  ladies,  of 
course,  instantly  began  to  talk  about  their  children,  and  my 
wife's  unfeigned  admiration  for  Mrs.  Mugford's  last  baby  I  think 
won  that  worthy  lady's  good-will  at  once.  I  made  some  remark 
regarding  one  of  the  boys  as  being  the  picture  of  his  father, 
which  was  not  lucky.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  have  it  from  her 
husband's  own  admission,  that  Mrs.  Mugford  always  thinks  I  am 
"chaffing"  her.  One  of  the  boys  frankly  informed  me  there 
was  goose  for  dinner;  and  when  a  cheerful cloop  was  heard  from 
a  neighboring  room,  told  me  that  was  pa  drawing  the  corks. 
Why  should  Mrs.  Mugford  reprove  the  outspoken  child,  and  say, 
"  James,  hold  your  tongue ;  do  now  ?"  Better  wine  than  was 
poured  forth  when  those  corks  were  drawn,  never  flowed  from 
bottle.  I  say,  I  never  saw  better  wine  nor  more  bottles.  If 
ever  a  table  may  be  said  to  have  groaned,  that  expression  might 
with  justice  be  applied  to  Mugford's  mahogany.  Talbot  Twysden 
would  have  feasted  forty  people  with  the  meal  here  provided  for 
eight  by  our  most  hospitable  entertainer.  Though  Mugford's 
editor  was  present,  who  thinks  himself  a  very  fine  fellow,  I 
assure  you,  but  whose  name  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  divulge,  all 
the  honors  of  the  entertainment  were  for  the  Paris  Correspond- 
ent, who  was  specially  requested  to  take  Mrs.  M.  to  dinner.  As 
an  earl's  grand-nephew,  and  a  lord's  great-grandson,  of  course 
we  felt  that  this  place  of  honor  was  Firmin's  right.  How  Mrs. 
Mugford  pressed  him  to  eat!  She  carved — I  am  \ery  glad  she 
would  not  let  Philip  carve  for  her,  for  he  might  have  sent  the  . 
goose  into  her  lap — she  carved,  I  say,  and  I  really  think  she 
gave  him  more  stuffing  than  to  any  of  us,  but  that  may  have 
been  mere  envy  on  my  part.  Allusions  to  Lord  Ringwood  were 
repeatedly  made  during  dinner.  "  Lord  R.  has  come  to  town, 
Mr.  F-,  I  perceive,"  says  Mugford,  winking.  "  You  ;ve  been  to 
see  him,  of  course.  ?"  Mr.  Firmin  glared  at  me  very  fiercely ; 
he  had  to  own  he  had  been  to  call  on  Lord  Ringwood.  Mugford 
led  the  conversation  to  the  noble  lord  so  frequently  that  Philip 
madly  kicked  my  shins  under  the  table.  I  don't  know  how 
many  times  I  had  to  suffer  from  that  foot,  which  in  itfs  time  had 
trampled  on  so  many  persons  ;  a  kick  for  each  time  Lord  Ring- 
wood's  name,  houses,  parks,  properties,  were  mentioned,  was  a 
frightful  allowance.  Mrs.  Mugford  would  say,  "May  I  assist  you 
to  a  little  pheasant,  Mr.  Firmin  ?  I  dare  say  they  are  not  as 
good  as  Lord  Ringwood's"  (a  kick  from  Philip);  or  Mugford 
would  exclaim,  "  Mr.  F.,  try  that  'ock  !  Lord  Ringwood  has  n't 
better  wine  than  that.  (Dreadful  punishment  upon  my  tibia 
under  the  table.)  "John!  Two  'ocks;  me  and  Mr.  Firmin. 
Join  us,  Mr.  P.,"  and  so  forth.  And  after  dinner  to  the  ladies — 
as  my  wife,  who  betrayed  their  mysteries,  informed  me — Mrs. 


ON    HIS    WAY    TDEOUGH    THE    WOULD.  239 

Mugford's  conversation  was  incessant  regarding  the  <Jlingwood 
family  and  Firmin's  relationship  to  that  noble  house.  The  meet- 
ing of  the  old  lord  and  Firmin  in  Paris  was  discussed  with 
immense  interest.  His  lordship  called  him  Philip  most  affable! 
he  was  very  fond  of  Mr.  Firmin.  A  little  bird  had  told  Mrs. 
Mugford  that  somebody  else  was  very  fond  of  Mr.  Firmin.  She 
hoped  it  would  be  a  match,  and  that  his  lordship  would  do  the 
handsome  thing  by  his  nephew.  What  V  My  wife  wondered 
that  Mrs.  Mugford  should  know  about  Philip's  affairs?  (and  won- 
der indeed  she  did.)  A  little  bird  had  told  Mrs.  M., — a  friend  of 
both  ladies,  that  dear,  good  little  Nurse  Brandon,  who  was  en- 
gaged— and  here  the  conversation  went  off  into  mysteries  which 
I  certainly  shall  not  reveal.  Suffice  it  that  Mrs.  Mugford  was 
one  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  best,  kindest,  and  most  constant  patrons — 
or  might  I  be  permitted  to  say  matrons  ? — and  had  received  a 
most  favorable  report  of  us  from  the  little  nurse.  And  here  Mrs. 
Pendennia  gave  a  verbatim  report  not  only  of  our  hostess' 
speech,  but  of  her  manner  and  accent..  "Yes,  ma'am,"  says 
Mrs.  Mugford  to  Mrs.  Pendennis,  "our  friend  Mrs.  B.  has  told 
me  of  a  certain  gentleman  whose  name  shall  be  nameless.  His 
manner  is  cold,  not  to  say  'aughty.  He  seems  to  be  laughing  at 
people  sometimes — don't  say  No;  I  saw  him  once  or  twice  at 
dinner,  both  him  and  Mr.  Firmin.  But  he  is  a  true  friend,  Mrs. 
Brandon  says  he  is.  And  when  you  know  him,  his  heart  is  good." 
Is  it?  Amen.  A  distinguished  writer  has  composed,  in  not 
very  late  days,  a  comedy  of  which  the  cheerful  moral  is,  that  we 
are  "  not  so  bad  as  we  s^ein."  Are  n't  we  ?  Amen,  again.  Give 
us  thy  hearty  hand,  Iago  1  Tartufle,  how  the  world  has  been 
mistaken  in  you  !  Macbeth  !  put  that  little  affair  of  the  murder 
out  of  your  mind.  It  was  a  momentary  weakness;  and  who  is 
not  weak  at  times  ?  Blifil,  a  more  maligned  man  than  you  does 
r.#t  exist !  O  humanity !  how  wp  have  been  mistaken  in  you  ! 
Let  us  expunge  the  vulgar  expression  "  miserable  sinners  ,l  out 
of  all  prayer-books  ;  open  the  port-holes  of  all  hulks  ;  break  the 
chains  of  all  convicts ;  and  unlock  the  boxes  of  all  spoons. 

As  we  discussed  Mr.  Mugford's  entertainment  on  our  return 
home,  I  improved  the  occasion  with  Philip;  I  pointed  out  the 
reasonableness  of  the  hopes  which  he  might  entertain  of  help 
from  his  wealthy  kinsman,  and  actually  forced  him  to  promise  to 
wait  upon  my  lord  the  next  day.  Now,  when  Philip  Firmin  did 
a  thing  against  his  will,  he  did  it  with  a  bad  grace.  When  he  is 
not  pleased,  he  does  not  pretend  to  be  happy  ;  and  when  lie  is 
sulky,  Mr.  Firmin  is  a  very  disagreeable  companion.  Though  he 
never  once  reproached  me  afterward  with  what  happened,  I  own 
that  I  have  had  cruel  twinges  of  conscience  since.  If  I  had  not 
sent  him  on  that  dutiful  visit  to  his  grand-uncle,  what  occurred 
might  never,  perhaps,  have  occurred  at  all.     I  acted  for  the  best, 


240  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  that  I  aver,  however  I  may  grieve   for   the  consequences 
which  endtied  when  the  poor  fellow  followed  my  advice. 

If  Philip  held  aloof  from  Lord  Ringwood  in  London,  you  may 
be  sure  Philip's,  dear  cousins  were  in  waiting  on  his  lordship,  and 
never  lost  an  opportunity  of  showing  their  respectful  sympathy. 
Was  Lord  Ringwood  ailing  ?  Mr.  Twysden,  or  Mrs.  Twysden, 
or  the  dear  girls,  or  Ringwood,  their  brother*  were  daily  in  his 
lordship's  antechamber,  asking  for  news  of  his  health.  They 
bent  down  respectfully- before  Lord  Ring  wood's  major-domo. 
They  would  have  given  him. money,  as  they  always  averred, 
only  what  sum  could  they  give  to  such  a  man  as  Rudge  V  They 
actually  offered  to  bribe  Mr.  Rudge  with  their  wine,  over  which 
he  made  horrible  faces.  They  fawned  and  smiled  before  him 
always.  I  should  like  to  have  seen  that  calm  Mrs.  Twysden, 
that  serene,  high-bred  woman,  who  would  cut  her  dearest  friend 
if  misfortuno  befell  her,  or  the  world  turned  its  back — I  should 
like  to  have  seen,  and  can  see  her  in  my  mind's  eye,  simpering, 
and  coaxing,  and  wheedling  this  footman.  She'  made  cheap 
presents  to  Mr.  Rudge  ;  she  smiled  on  him,  and  asked  after  his 
health.  And  of  course  Talbot  Twysden  Mattered  him,  too,  in 
Talbot's  jolly  way.  Tt  was  a  wink,  and  nod,  and  a  hearty  how 
do  you  do  ? — and  (after  due  inquiries  made  and  answered  about 
his  lordship)  it  would  be,  "  Rudge !  I  think  my  housekeeper  has 
a  good  gla-s  of  port-wine  in  her  room,  if  you  happen  to  be 
passing  that  way,  and  my  lord  don't  want  you  !"  And  with  a 
grave  courtesy  I  can  fancy  iVtr.  Rudge  bowing  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Twysden,  and  thanking  them,  and  descending  to  Mrs.  Blenkin- 
sop's  skinny  room  where  the  port-wine  is  ready — and  if  Mr. 
Rudge  and  Mrs..  Blenkinsop  are  confidential,  I  can  fancy  their 
talking  over  the  characters  and  peculiarities  of  the  folks  up 
stairs.  Servants  sometimes  actually  do ;  and  if  master  and 
mistrfss  are  humbugs,  these  wretched  menials  sometimes  find  them 

out,  ;  ■  •■ 

Now,  no  duke  could  be  more  lordly  and  condescending  in  his 
bearing  than  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  toward  the  menial  throng.  In 
those  days,  when  he  had  money  in  his  pockets,  he  gave  Mr. 
Rudge  out  of  his  plenty  ;  and  the  man  remembered  his  generosity 
when  he  was  poor;  and  declared — in  a  select  society,  and  in  the 
company  of  the  relative  of  a  person  from  whom  I  have  the  in- 
formation— declared  in  the  presence  of  Captain  Gann,  at  the 
Admiral  B — ng  Club  in  fact,  that  Mr.  Heff  was  always  a  swell ; 
but  since  he  was  done,  he,  Rudge,  "  was  blest  if  that  young 
chap  warn't  a  greater  swell  than  never."  And  Rudge  actually 
liked  this  poor  young  fellow  better  than  the  family  in  Walpole 
street,  whom  Mr.  R.  pronounced  to  be  "  a  shabby  lot."  And  in 
fact  it  was  Rudge,  as  well  as  myself,  who  advised  that  Philip 
should  6ee  his  lotdship: 


Pi:  7 


4      0   u  A    R  &  E  *- 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  841 

When  at  length  Philip  paid  his  second  visit,  Mr.  Rudge  said, 
"My  lord  will  see  you,  sir,  I  think.  He  has  been  speaking  of 
you.  He  's  very  unwell.  He  's  goisg  to  have  a  fit  of  the  gout, 
I  think.  I  '11  tell  him  you  are  here."  And  coming  back  to  Philip, 
after  a  brief  disappearance,  and  with  rather  a  scared  face,  he 
repeated  the  permission  to  enter,  and  again  cautioned  him,  say- 
ing, that  "  my  lord  was  very  queer." 

In  fact,  as  we  learned  afterward,  through  the  channel  pre- 
viously indicated,  my  lord,  when  he  heard  that  Philip  had  called, 
cried,  "  He  hap,  has  he  ?  Hang  him,  send  him  in  ;"  using,  I  am 
constrained  to  say,  in  place  of  the  monosyllable  "  hang,"  a  much 
stronger  expression. 

"  Oh,  it  \s  you,  is  it  ?"  says  my  lord.  "  You  have  been  in  Lon- 
don ever  s«  long.     Twysden  told  me  of  you  yesterday." 

"1  have  called  before,  sir,"  said  Philip,  very  quietly. 

"  I  wonder  you  have  the  face  to  call  at  all,  sir !"  cries  the  old 
man,  glaring  at  Philip.  His  lordship's  countenance  was  of  a 
gamboge  color ;  his  noble  eyes  were  bloodshot  and  starting ;  his 
voice,  always  very  harsh  and  strident,  was  now  specially  un- 
pleasant ;  and  from  the  crater  of  his  mouth  shot  loud  exploding 
oaths. 

"Face!  my  lord  V"  says  Philip,  still  very  meek. 

11  Yes,  if  you  call  that  a  face  which  is  covered  over  with^hair 
like  a  baboon  !"  growled  my  lord,  showing  his  tusks.  "  Twysden 
was  here  last  night,  and  tells  me  some  pretty  news  about  you." 

Philip  blushed  ;  he  knew  what  the  news  most  likely  would  be. 

"  Twysden  says  that  now  you  are  a  pauper,  by  George,  and 
living  by  breaking  stones  in  the  street — you  have  been  such  an 
infernal,  drivelling,  hanged  fool,  as  to  engage  yourself  to  another 
pauper  I '    ■ 

Poor  Philip  turned  white  from  red,  and  spoke  slowly  :  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  my  lord,  you  said  ? — " 

"  I  said  you  were  a  hanged  fool,  sir  !"  roared  the  old  man ; 
"  can't  you  hear  V" 

"  I  believe  I  am  a  member  of  your  family,  my  lord,"  says 
Philip,  rising  up.  In  a  quarrel,  he  would  sometimes  lose  his 
temper,  and  speak  out  his  mind ;  or  sometimes,  and  then  he  was 
most  dangerous,  he  wo  ild  be  especially  calm  and  Grandisonian. 

4k  Some  hanged  adventurer,  thinking  you  were  to  get  money 
from  me,  has  hooked  you  for  his  daughter,  has  he  ?" 

"  I  have  engaged  myself  to  a  young  lady,  and  I  am  the  poorer 
of  the  two,"  says  Philip. 

"She  thinks  you  will  get  money  from  me,"  continues  his  lord- 
ship. 

"  Does  she  V     I  never  did  I"  replied  Philip. 

"  By  heaven,  you  shan't,  unless  you  give  up  this  rubbish." 

"I  shan't  give  her  up,  sir,  and  1  shall  do  without  th»  money," 
said  Mr.  Fiimin,  very  boldly. 
21 


242  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  Go  to  Tartarus!"  screamed  the  old  man. 

On  which  Philip  told  us,  "  I  said,  '  Seniores  priores,'  my  lord, 
and  turned  on  my  heel.  So  you  see  if  he  was  going  to  leave  me 
something,  and  he  nearly  said  he  was,  that  chance  is  passed  now, 
and  I  have  made  a  pretty  morning's  work.  And  a  pretty  morn- 
ing's work  it  was:  and  it  was  I  who  had  set  him  i\pon  it!  My 
brave  Philip  not  only  did  not  rebuke  me  for  having  sent  him  on 
this  errand,  but  took  the  blame  of  the  business  on  himself. 
"  Since  I  have  been  engaged,"  he  said,  "  I  am  growing  dread- 
fully avaricious,  and  am  almost  as  sordid  about  money  as  those 
Twysdens.  I  cringed  to  that  old  man ;  I  crawled  before  his 
gouty  feet.  Well,  I  could  crawl  from  here  to  St.  James'' palace 
to  get  some  money  for  my  little  Charlotte."  Philip  cringe  and 
crawl !  If  there  were  no  posture-masters  more  supple  than  Phi- 
lip Firmin,  kotooing  would  be  a  lost  art,  like  the  Menuet  de  la 
Cour.  But  fear  not,  ye  great !  Men's  backs  were  made  to  bend, 
and  the  race  of  parasites  is  still  in  good  repute. 

When  our  friend  told  us  how  his  brief  interview  with  Lord 
Ringwood  had  begun  and  ended,  1  think  those  who  counselled 
Philip  to  wait  upon  his  grand-uncle  felt  rather  ashamed  of  their 
worldly  wisdom  and  the  advice  which  they  had  given.  We  ought, 
to  have  known  our  Huron  sufficiently  to  be  aware  that  it  was  a 
dangerous  experiment  to  set  him  bowing  in  lords'  antecham- 
bers; Were  not  his  elbows  sure  to  break  some  courtly  china,  his 
feet  to  trample  and  tear  some  iace  train  ?  So  all  the  good  we 
had  done  was  to  occasion  a  quarrel  between  him  and  his  patron. 
Lord  Ringwood  avowed  that  he  had  intended  to  leave  Philip 
money  ;  and  by  thrusting  the  poor  fellow  into  the  old  nobleman's 
sick-chamber  we  had  occasioned  a  quarrel  between  the  relatives, 
who  parted  with  mutual  threats  and  anger.  "  Oh,  dear  me  !"  I 
groaned  in  connubial  colloquies.  "  Let  us  get  him  away.  He 
will  be  boxing  Mugfbrd's  ears  next,  and  telling  Mrs.  Mugford 
that  she  is  vulgar  and  a  bore."  Pie  was  eager  to  get  back  to  his 
work,  or  rather  to  his  lady-love,  at  Paris.  We  did  not  try  to 
detain  him.  For  fear  of  further  aecidents,  we  were  rather  anx- 
ious that  he  should  be  gone.  Crestfallen  and  sad,  I  accompanied 
Kirn  to  the  Boulogne  boat.  He  paid  for  his  place  in  the  second- 
cabin,  and  stoutly  bade  us  adieu.  A  rough  night :  a  wet,  slip- 
pery deck:  a  crowd  of  frowzy  fellow-passengers:  and  poor  Phi- 
lip in  the  midst  of  them  in  a  thin  cloak,  his  yellow  hair  and  beard 
blowing  about :  J  see  the  steamer  now,  and  lett  her  with  I  know 
not  what  feelings  of  contrition  and  shame.  Why  had  I  sent 
Philip  to  call  upon  that  savage,  overbearing  old  patron  of  his  ? 
Why  compelled  him  to  that  bootless  act  of  submission  ?  Lord 
Ring  wood's  brutalities  were  matters  af  common  notoriety.  A 
wicked,  dissolute,  cynical  old  man  :  and  we  must  try  to  make 
friends  with  this  mammon  of  unrighteousness,  and  set  poor  Phi-" 
lip  to  bow  before  him  and  flatter  him !     Ah,  mea  culpa,  mea 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  24S 

culpa !  The  wind  blew  hard  that  winter  night,  and  many  tiles 
and  chimney-pots  blew  clown :  and  as  I  thought  of  poor  Philip 
tossing  in  the  frowzy  second-cabin,  I  rolled  about  my  own  bed 
very  uneasily. 

I  looked  into  Bays'  Club  the  day  after,  and  there  fell  on  both 
the  Twysdens.  The  parasite  of  a  father  was  clinging  to  the 
button  of  a  great  man  when  I  entered  :  the  little  reptile  of  a  son 
came  to  the  club  in  Captain  Woolcombe's  brougham,  and  in  that 
distinguished  mulatto  officer's  company.  They  looked  at  me  in 
a  peculiar  way.  I  was  sure  they  did.  Talbot  Twysden,  pouring 
his  loud,  braggart  talk  in  the  ear  of  poor  Lord  l^epel,  eyed  me 
with  a  glance  "of  triumph,  and  talked  and  swaggered  so  that  I 
should  hear.  Ringwood  Twysden  and  Woolcombe,  drinking 
absinthe  to  whet  their  noble  appetites,  exchanged  glances  and 
g*ins.  Woolcombe's  eyes  were  of  the  color  of  the  absinthe  he 
swallowed.  I  did  not  see  that  Twysden  tore  off  one  of  Lord  Le- 
pel's  buttons,  but  that  nobleman,  with  a  scared  countenance, 
moved  away  rapidly  from  Lis  little  persecutor.  "  Hang  him, 
throw  him  over,  and  come  to  me  I"  I  heard  the  generous  Twys- 
den say.  "I  expect  "Ringwood  and  one  or  two  more."  At  this 
proposition  Lord  Lepel,  in  a  tremulous  way,  muttered  that  he 
could  not  break  his  engagement,  and  fled  out  of  the  club. 

Twysden's  dinners,  the  polite  reader  has  been  previously  in- 
formed, were  notorious;  and  he  constantly  bragged  of  having  the 
company  of  Lord  Ringwood.  Now  it  so  happened  that  on  this 
very  evening  Lord  Ringwood,  with  three  of  his  followers,  hench- 
men, or  led  captains,  dined  at  Bays'  Club,  being  determined  to 
see  a  pantomime  in  which  a  very  pretty  young  Columbine  figur- 
ed ;  and  some  one  in  the  house  joked  with  his  lordship,  and  said, 
"  Why,  you  are  going  to  dine  with  Talbot  Twysden.  He  said, 
just  now,  that  he  expected  you." 

"  Did  he  ?"  said  his  lordship.  "  Then  Talbot  Twysden  told  a 
hanged  lie  !"  And  little  Tom  Eaves,  my  informant,  remembered 
these  reViarkable  words,  because  of  a  circumstance  whicli  now 
almost  immediately  followed. 

A  very  few  days  after  Philip's  departure,  our  friend,  the  Little 
Sister,  earned  us  at  our  breakfast-table,  wearing  an  expression 
of  much  trouble  and  sadness  on  her  kind  little  face  ;  the  causes 
of  which  sorrow  she  explained  to  us,  as  soon  as  our  children  had 
gone  away  to  their  school-room.  Among  Mrs.  Brandon's  friends, 
and  one  of  her  father's  constant  companions,  was  the  worthy  Mr. 
Ridley,  father  of  the  celebrated  painter  of  that  name,  who  was 
himself  of  much  too  honorable  and  noble  a  nature  to  be  ashamed 
of  his  humble  paternal  origin.  Companionship  between  father 
and  son  could  not  be  very  close  or  intimate;  especially  a?  in  the 
younger  Ridley's  boyhood  liis  father,  who  knew  nothing  of  the 
line  arts,  had  looked  upon  the  child  as  a  sickly,  half-witted  creat- 
ure, who  would  be  to  his  parents  but  a  grief  and  a  burden.     But 


244  THE   ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

when  J.  J.  Ridley,  Esq.,  began  to  attain  eminence  in  his  profes- 
sion, his  father's  eyes  were  opened ;  in  place  of  neglect  and  con- 
tempt, he  looked  up  to  his  boy  with  a  sincere,  naive  admiration, 
and  often,  with  tears,  has  narrated  the  prideand  pleasure  which 
he  felt  on  the  day  when  he  waited  on  John  James  at  his  mas- 
ter's, Lord  Todmorden's,  table.  Ridley  senior  now  felt  that  he 
had  been  unkind  and  unjust  to  his  boy  in  the  latter's  early  days, 
and  with  a  very  touching  humility  the  old  man  acknowledged 
his  previous  injustice,  and  tried  to  atone  for  it  by  present  respect 
and  affection. 

Though  fondness  for  his  son,  and  delight  in  the  company  of 
Captain  Gann,  often  drew  Mr.  Ridley  to  Thornhaugh  street, 
and  to  the  Admiral  Byng  Club,  of  which  both  were  leading 
members,  Ridley  senior  belonged  to  other  clubs  at  the  West 
End,  where  Lord  Todmorden's  butler  consorted  with  the  confi- 
dential butlers  of  others  of  the  nobility  ;  and  I* am  informed^that 
in  those  clubs  Ridley  continued  to  be  called  "  Todmorden  long 
after  his  connection  with  that  venerable  nobleman  had  ceased. 
He  continued  to  be  called  Lord  Todmorden,  in  fact,  just' as 
Lord  Popinjoy  is  still  called  by  his  old  friends  Popinjoy,  though 
his  father  is  dead,  and  Popinjoy,  as  everybody  knows,  is  at 
present  Earl  of  Pintado. 

At  one  of  these  clubs  of  their  order  Lord  Todmorden's  man 
was  in  the  constant  habit  of  meeting  Lord  Ringwood's  man 
when  their  lordships  (master  and  man)  were  in  town.  These 
gentlemen  had  a  regard  for  each  other ;  and  when  they  met 
communicated  to  each  other  their  views  of  society,  and  their 
opinions  of  the  characters  of  the  various  noble  lords  and  influ- 
ential commoners  whom  they  served.  Mr.  Rudge  knew  every- 
thing about  Philip  Firmin's  affairs,  about  the  doctor's  flight, 
about  Philips  generous  behavior.  "Generous!  /call  it  admi- 
ral !"  old  Ridley  remarked,  while  narrating  this  trait  of  our 
friend's,  and  his  present  position.  And  Rudge  contrasted 
Philip's  manly  behavior  with  the  conduct  of  some  snealts  which 
he  would  not  name  them,  but  which  they  were  always  speaking 
ill  of  the  poor  young  fellow  behind  his  back,  and  sneaking  up  to 
my  lord,  and  gceater  skinflints  and  meaner  humbugs  never 
were  :  and  there  was  no  accounting  for  tastes,  but  he,  Rudge, 
would  not  marry  his  daughter  to  a  black  man. 

Now,  that  day  when  Mr.  Firmin  went  to.  see  my  Lord  Ring- 
wood  was  one  of  my  lord's  very  worst  days,  when  it  was  almost 
as  dangerous  to  go  near  him  as  to  approach  a  Bengal  tiger. 
When  he  is  going  to  have  a  fit  of  gout  his  lordship  (Mr.  Rudge 
remarked)  was  hawful.  He  curse  and  swear,  he  do,  at  every-* 
body ;  even  the  clergy  or  the  ladies — all 's  one.  On  that  very 
day  when  Mr.  Firmin  called  he  had  said  to  Mr.  Twysden,  "Get 
out,  and  don't  come  slandering,  and  backbiting,  and  bullying 
that  poor  devil  of  a  boy  any  more.  It 's  blackguardly,  by  George, 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  245 

sir — it 's  blackguardly."  And  Twysden  came  out  with  his 
tail  between  his  legs,  and  he  says  to  me — "  Rudge  "  says  he,  "  my 
lord's  uncommon  bad  to-day."  Well.  He  had  n't  been  gone  an 
hour  when  pore  Philip  comes,  bad  luck  to  him  ;  and  my  lord, 
who  had  just  heard  from  Twysden  all  about  that  young  woman — 
that  party  at  Paris,  Mrs.  Brandon — and  it  is  about  as  great  a 
piece  of  folly  as  ever  1  heard  tell  of — my  lord  turns  upon  the 
pore  young  fellar,  and  call  him  names  worse  than  Twysden. 
But  Mr.  Firmin  ain't  that  sort  of  man,  he  is  n't.  He  won't  suf- 
fer any  man  to  call  him  names  ;  and  I  suppose  he  gave  my  lord 
his  ovvn  back  again,  for  I  heard  my  lord  swear  at  him  tremen- 
dous, I  did,  with  my  own  ears.  When  my  lord  has  the  gout 
flying  about  I  told  you  he  is  awful.  When  he  takes  his  colchi- 
cum  he  's  worse.  Now  we  have  got  a  party  at  Whipham  at 
•Christmas,  and  at  Whipham  we  must  be.  And  he  took  his  cril- 
chicum  night  before  last,  and  to-day  he  was  in  such  a  tremen- 
dous rage  of  swearing,  cursing,  and  blowing  up  everybod}',  that 
it  was  as  if  he  was  red-hot.  And  when  Twysden  and  Mrs.  Twys- 
den called  that  day  (if  you  kick  that  fellar  out  at  the  hall-door, 
I  'm  blest  if  he  won't  come  smirkin'  down  the  chimney) — and  he 
would  n't  see  any  of  them.  And  he  bawled  out  after  me,  'l  If 
Firmin  comes  kick  him  down  stairs — do  you  hear  V  with  ever 
so  many  oaths  and  curses  against  the  poor  fellow,  while  he 
vowed  he  would  never  see  his  hanged  impudent  face  again. 
But  this  was  n't  all,  Ridley.  He  sent  for  Bradgate,  his  lawyer, 
that  very  day.  He  had  back  his  will,  which  I  signed  myself  as 
one  "of  the  witnesses — me  and  Wilcox,  the  master  of  the  hotel — 
and  I  know  he  had  left  Firmin  something  in  it.  Take  my  word 
for  it.  To  that  poor  young  fellow  he  means  mischief.  A  full 
report  of  this  conversation  Mr.  Ridley  gave  to  his  little  friend 
Mrs.  Brandon,  knowing  the  interest  which  Mrs.  BrandOn  took 
in  the  young  gentleman ;  and  with  these  unpleasant  news  Mrs. 
Brandon  came  off  to  advise  with  those  who — the  good  nurse 
was  pleased  to  say — were  Philip's  best  friends  in  the  world. 
We  wished  we  could  give  the  Little  Sister  comfort:  but  all  the 
world  knew  what  a  man  Lord  Ringwood  was — how  arbitrary, 
how  revengeful,  how  cruel. 

T  knew  Mr.  Bradgate,  the  lawyer,  with  whom  I  had  business, 
and  called  upon  him,  more  anxious  to  speak  about  Philip's 
affairs  than  my  own.  I  suppose  I  was  too  eager  in  coming  to  my 
point,  for  Bradgate  saw  the  meaning  of  my  questions,  and  de- 
clined to  answer  them.  "  My  client  and  I  are  not  the  dearest 
friends  in  the  world,"  Bradgate  said  ;  u  but  I  keep  his  counsel,  and 
must,  not  tell  you  whether  Mr.  Firmin's  name  is  down  in  his  lord1- 
ships  will  or  not.  How  should  I  know  '?  He  may  have  altered  his 
will,  lie  may  have  left  Firmin  money  ;  he  may  have  left  him  none. 
I  hope  young  Firmin  does  not  count  on  a  legacy.  That,  's  all.  He 
may  be  disappointed  if  he  does.    Why,  yon  may  hope  for  a  legacy 


246  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

from  Lord  Ringwood,  and  you  may  be  disappointed.  I  know 
scores  of  people  who  do  hope  for  something,  and  who  won't  get 
a  penny."  And  this  was  all  the  reply  I  could  get  at  that  time 
from  the  oracular  little  lawyer. 

I  told  my  wife,  as  of  course  every  dutiful  man  tells  every 
thing  to  every  dutiful  wife :  but,  though  Bradgate  discouraged 
us,  there  was  somehow  a  lurking  hope  still  that  the  old  noble- 
man would  provide  for  our  friend.  Then  Philip  would  marry 
Charlotte.  Then  he  would  earn  ever  so  much  more  money  by 
his  newspaper.  Then  he  would  be  happy  ever  after.  My  wife 
counts  eggs  not  only  before  they  are  hatched,  but  before  they 
are  laid.  Never  was  such  an  obstinate  hopefulness  of  character. 
I,  on  the  other  hand,  take  a  rational  and  despondent  view  of 
things;  and  if  they  turn-out  better  than  I  expect,  as  sometimes 
they  will,  I  affably  own  that  I  have  been  mistaken. 

But  an  early  day  came  when  Mr.  Bradgate  was  no  longer 
needful,  or  when  he  thought  himself  released  from  the  obliga- 
tions of  silence  with  regard  to  his  noble  client.  It  was  two  days 
before  Christmas,  and  I  took  my  accustomed  afternoon  saunter 
to  Bays',  where  other  habitues  of  the  club  were  assembled.  There 
was  no  little  buzzing  and  excitement  among  the  frequenters  of 
the  place.  Talbot  Twysden  always  arrived  at  Bays'  at  ten 
minutes  past  four,  and  scuffled  for  the  evening  paper,  as  if  its 
contents  were  matter  of  great  importance  to  Talbot.  He  would 
hold  men's  buttons,  and  discourse  to  them  the  leading  article  out 
of  that  paper  with  an  astounding  emphasis  and  gravity.  On 
this  day,  some  ten  minutes  after  his  accustomed  hour,  he  reach- 
ed the  club.  Other  gentlemen  were  engaged  in  perusing  the 
evening  journal.  The  lamps  on  the  tables  lighted  up  the  bald 
heads,  the  gray,  heads,  dyed  heads,  and  the  wigs  of  many  as- 
sembled fogies — murmurs  went  about  the  room.  "  Very  sud-  \ 
den."  "  Gout  in  the  stomach."  "  Dined  here  only  four  days 
ago."  "  Looked  very  well."  "  Very  well  ?  No  !  Never  saw 
a  fellow  look  worse  in  my  life.'"  "Yellow  as  a  guinea." 
"  Could  n't  eat."  "  Swore  dreadfully  at  the  waiters,  and  at 
Tom  Eaves,  who  dined  with  him."  "  Seventy-six,  I  see.  Born 
in  the  same  year  with  the  Duke  of  York."  "  Forty  thousand  a 
year."  "  Forty?  fifty-eight  thousand  three  hundred,  I  tell  you. 
Always  been  a  saving  man."  "  Title  goes  to  his  cousin,  Sir 
John  Ringwood  ;  not,  a  member  here — member  of  Boodle's." 
"  Not  the  earldom-— the  baron}'."  "  Hated  each  other  furiously. 
Very  violent  temper,  the  old  fellow  was.  Never  got  over  the 
Reform  Bill,  they  used  to  say."  "  Wonder  whether  he'll  leave 
any  thing  to  old  bow  wow  Twys — "  Here  enters  Talbot.  Twys- 
den, Esq.  "  Ua,  Colonel !  How  are  you V  What's  the  news 
to-night?  Kept  late  at  my  office,  making  up  accounts.  Going 
down  to  Whipham  to-morrow  to  pass  Christmas  with  my  wife's 
uncle — Ringwoodvyou  know.     Always  go  down  to  Whipham  at 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THK  WORLD.  247 

Christmas.     Keeps  the  pheasants  for  us— no  longer  a  hunting 
man  myself.     Lost  my  nerve,  by  George." 

While  the  braggart  little  creature  indulged  in  this  pompous 
talk  lie  did  not  see  the  significant  looks  which  were  fixed  upon 
him,  or,  if  he  remarked  them,  was  perhaps  pleased  by  the  atten- 
tion which  he  excited.  Bays'  had  long  echoed  with  Twysden's 
account  of  Ringwood,  the  pheasants,  his  own  loss  of  nerve  in 
hunting,  and  the  sum  which  their  family  would  inherit  at  the 
death  of  their  noble  relative. 

"  1  think  I  have  heard  you  say  Sir  John  Ringwood  inherits 
after  your  relative  V"  asked  Mr.  Hook  ham. 

"  Yes;  the  barony— only  the  barony.  The  earldom  goes  to 
my  lord  and  his  heirs,  Hookham.  Why  shouldn't  he  marry 
again?  I  often  say  to  him,  '  Ringwood,  why  don't  you  marry, 
if  it 's  only  to  disappoint  that  Whig'  fellow,  Sir  John  V  You  are 
fresh  andhale,  Ringwood.  You  may  live  twenty  years,  five-and- 
twenty  years.  If  you  leave  your  nit ce  and  my  children  any- 
thing, we're  not  in  a  hurry  to  inherit,'  I  say;  'why  don't  you 
mai  ry  V  "  " 

"  Ah  !  Twysden,  he  's  past  marrying,"  groans  Mr.  Hookham. 

44  Not  at  all.  Sober  man  now.  Stout  man.  Immense  pow- 
erful man.  Healthy  man,  but  for  gout.  1  often*  say  to  him, 
4  Ringwood  ! '  1  say — " 

14  Ob,  for  mercy's  sake,  stop  this  !"  groans  old  Mr.  Tremlett, 
who  always  begins  to  simpler  at  the  sound  of  poor  Twysden's 
voice.     "  Tell  him,  somebody." 

"  Have  n't  you-  heard,  Twysden  ?  Have  n't  you  seen  ?  Don't 
you  know  ?"  asks  Mr.  Hookham,  solemnly. 

44  Heard,  seen,  known — what  ?"  cries  the  other. 

14  An  accident  has  happened  to  Lord  Ringwood.  Look  at  the 
paper.  Here  it  is."  And  Twysden  pulls  out  his  great  gold 
eye-glasses,  holds  the  paper  as  far  as  his  little  arm  will  reach, 
and — and  merciful  Powers!—  But  I  will  not  venture  to  depict 
the  agony  on  that  noble  face.  Like  Timanthes,  the  painter,  I 
hide  this  Agamemnon  with  a  veil.  I  cast  the  Globe  newspape'r 
over  him."  lllabatur  oibis;  and  let  imagination  depict  our 
Twysden  under  the  ruins. 

What  Twysden  read  in  the  Globe  was  a  mere  curt  paragraph  ; 
but  in  next  morning's  Times  there  was  one  of  those  obituary  no- 
tices to  which  noblemen  of  eminence  must  submit  from  the  mys- 
terious necrographer  engaged  by  that  paper. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

PULVIS    KT    UMBRA    SUMUS. 

The   first  and  only   Earl  of  Ringwood  has  submitted  to  the 
fate  which  peers  and  commoners  are  alike  destined  to  undergo. 


218  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Hastening  to  his  magnificent  seat  of  Whipham  Market,  where 
he  proposed  to  enterjbain  an  illustrious  Christmas  party,  his  lord- 
ship left  Loudon  scarcely  recovered  from  an  attack  of  gout  to 
which  he  has  been  for  many  years  a  martyr.  The  disease  must 
have  flown  to  his  stomach,  and  suddenly  mastered  him.  At 
Turreys  Regum,  thirty  miles  from  his  own  princely  habitation, 
where  he  had  been  accustomed  to  dine  on  his  almost  royal  pro- 
gresses to  hishome,  he  was  already  in  a  state  of  dreadful  suffer- 
ing, to  which  his  attendants  did  not  pay  the  attention  which  his 
condition  ought  to  have  excited  :  for  when  laboring;  under  -this 
most  painful  malady  his  outcries  were  loud,  and  his  language 
and  demeanor  exceedingly  violent.  He  angrily  refused  to  send 
for  medical  aid  at  Turreys,  and  insisted  on  continuing  his 
journey  homeward.  He  was  one  of  the  old  school,  who  never 
would  enter  a  railway  (though  his  fortune  was  greatly  increased 
by  the  passage  of  the  railway  through  his  property)  ;  and  his 
own  horses  always  met  him  at  Popper's  Tavern,  an  obscure 
hamlet,  seventeen  miles  from  his  princely  seat.  He  made  no 
sign  on  arriving  at  Popper's,  anfl  spoke  no  word,  to  the  now  se- 
rious alarm  of  his  servants.  When  they  came  to  light  his  car- 
riage-lamps, and  look  into  his  post-chaise,  the  lord  of  many 
thousand  ao»es,  and,  according  to  report,  of  immense  wealth, 
was  dead.  The  journey  from  Turreys  had  been  the  last  stage 
of  a  long,  a  prosperous,  and  if  not  a  famous,  at  least  a  notorious 
and  magnificent  career.  %  •  » 

"  The  late  John  George  Earl  and  Baron  Ringwood  and  Vis- 
count Cinqbars  entered  into  public  life  at  the  dangerous  period 
before  the  French  Revolution  ;  and  commenced  his  career  as  the 
friend  and  companion  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  When  his  Royal 
Highness  seceded  from  the  Whig  party,  Lord  Ringwood  also 
joined  the  Tory  side  of  politicians,  and  an  earldom  was  the  price 
of  his  fidelity.  But  on  the  elevation  of  Lord  Steyne  to  a  mar- 
quisate,  Lord  Ringwood  quarrelled  for  a  while  with  his  royal  pa- 
tron and  friend,  deeming  his  own  services  unjustly  slighted  as  a 
like  dignity  was  not  conferred  on  himself.  On  several  occasions 
he  gave  his  vote  against  Government,  and  caused  his  nominees 
in  the  House  of  Commons  to  vote  with  the  Whigs.  He  never 
was  reconciled  to  his  late  Majesty  George  IV,  of  whom  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  speaking  with  characteristic  bluntness.  The  ap- 
proach of  the  Reform  Bill,  however,  threw  this  nobleman  defini- 
tively on  the  Tory  side,  of  which  he  has  ever  since  remained,  if 
not  an  eloquent,  at  least  a  violent  supporter.  He  was  said  to  be 
a  liberal  landlord,  so  long  as  his  tenants  did  not  thwart  him  in 
his  views.  His  only  son  died  early,  and  his  lordship,  according 
to  report,  has  long  been  on  ill  terms  with  bis  kinsman  and  suc- 
cessor, Sir  John  Ringwood,  of  Appleshaw,  Baronet,  at  present 
Baron  Ringwood.  The  barony  has  been  in  this  ancient  family 
since  the  reign  of  George  I,  when  Sir  John  Ringwood  was  en- 
nobled, and  Sir  Francis,  his  brother,  a  Baron  of  the  Exchequer , 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD-  249 

was  advanced  to  the  dignity  of  baronet  by  the  first  of  our  Han- 
overian sovereigns." 

This  was  the  article  which  mv  wife  and  I  read  on  the  morning 
of  Christmas  eve,  as  our  children  were  decking  lamps  and  look- 
ing-glasses with  holly  and  red  berries  for  the  approaching  festival. 
I  had  dispatched  a  hurried  note,  containing  the  news,  to  Philip 
on  the  night  previous.  We  were  painfully  anxious  about  his  fate 
now,  when  a  few  days  would  decide  it.  Again  my  business  or 
curiosity  took  me  to  see  Mr.  Bradgate,  the  lawyer.  He  was  in 
possession  of  the  news,  of  course.  He  was  not  averse  to  talk 
about  it.  The  death  of  his  client  unsealed  the  lawyer's  lips  par- 
tially ;  and  I  must  say  Bradgate  spoke  in  a  manner  not  flatter- 
ing to  his  noble  deceased  client.  The  brutalities  of  the  late 
nobleman  had  been  very  hard  to  bear.  On  occasion  of  their 
last  meeting  his  oaths  and  disrespectful  behavior  had  been 
specially  odious.  He  had  abused  almost  every  one  of  his  rela- 
tives. His  heir,  he  said,  was  a  canting,  Methodistical  humbug. 
He  had  a  relative  (whom  Bradgate  said  he  would  not  name) 
who  was  a  scheming,  swaggering,  swindling  lick-spittle  parasite, 
always  cringing  at  his  heels,  and  longing  for  his  death.  And  he 
had  another  relative,  the  impudent  son  of  a  swindling  doctor, 
who  had  insulted  him  two  hours  before  in  his  own  room — a  fellow 
who  was  a  pauper,  and  going  to  propagate  a  breed  for  the  work- 
house ;  for,  after  his  behavior  of  that  day,  he  would  be  condemned 
to  the  lowest  pit  of  Acheron  before  he,  Lord  Ringwood,  would 
give  that  scoundrel  a  penny  of  his  money  "  And  his  lordship 
desired  me  to  send  him  back  his  will,"  said  Mr.  Bradgate.  "And 
he  destroyed  that  will  before  he  went  away  :  it  was  not  the  first 
he  had  burned.  And  I  may  tell  you,  now  all  is  over,  that  he  had 
left  his  brother's  grandson  a  handsome  legacy  in  that  will,  which 
your  poor  friend  might  have  had,  but  that  he  went  to  see  my 
lord  in  his  unlucky  fit  of  gout."  Ah,  mea  culpa  !  mea  culpa  ! 
And  who  sent  Philip  to  see  his  relative  in  that  unlucky  fit  of 
gout  ?  Who  was  so  worldly-wise — so  Twysden-like,  as  to  counsel 
Philip  to  flattery  and  submission  ?  But  for  that  advice  he  might 
be  wealthy  nOw  ;  he  might  be  happy ;  he  might  be  ready  to 
marry  his  young  sweetheart.  Our  Christmas  turkey  choked 
me  as  1  ate  of  it.  The  lights  burned  dimly,  and  the  kisses  and 
laughter  under  the  mistletoe  were  but  melancholy  sport.  But 
for  my  advice,,  how  happy  might  my  friend  have  been  1  I  looked 
askance  at  the  honest  faces  of  my  children.  What  would  they 
say  if  they  knew  their  father  had  advised  a  friend  to  cringe,  and 
bow,  and  bumble  himself  before  a  rich,  wicked  old  man  ?  I  sate 
as  mute  at  the  pantomime  as  at  a  burial ;  the  laughter  of  the 
little  one6  smote  me  as  with  a  reproof.  A  burial  ?  With  plumes 
and  lights,  and  upholsterers'  pageantr}',  and  mourning  by  the 
yard  measure,  they  were  burying  my  Lord  Ringwood,  who  might 
have  made  Philip  Firmin  rich  but  for  me. 
22 


250  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

All  lingering  hopes  regarding  our  friend  were  quickly  put  to 
an  end.  "A  will  was  found  at  Whipnam,  dated  a  year  back,  in 
which  no  mention  was  made  of  poor  Philip  Firmin.  Small 
legacies — disgracefully  shabby  and  small,  Twysden  said — were 
left  to  the  Twysden  family,  with  the  full-length  portrait  of  the 
late  earl  in  his  coronation  robes,  which,  I  should  think,  must  have 
given  but  small  satisfaction  to  his  surviving  relatives;  for  his 
lordship  was  but  an  ill-favored  nobleman,  and  the  price  of  the 
carriage  of  the  large  picture  from  Whipham  was  a  tax  which 
poor  Talbot  made  very  wry  faces  at  paying.  Had  the  picture 
been  accompanied  by  thirty  or  forty  thousand  pounds,  or  fifty 
thousand — why  should  he  not  have  left  them  fifty  thousand? — 
how  different  Talipot's  grief  would  have  been !  Whereas,  when 
Talbot  counted  up  the  dinners  he  had  given  to  Lord  Ringwood 
— all  of  which  he  could  easily  calculate  by  his  cunning  ledgers 
and  journals,  in  which  was  noted  down  every  feast  at  which  his 
lordship  attended,  every  guest  assembled,  and  every  bottle  of 
wine  drunk — Twysden  found  that  he  had  absolutely  spent  more 
money  upon  my  lord  than  the  old  man  had  paid  back  in  his  will. 
But  all  the  family  went  into  mourning,  and  the  Twysden  coach- 
man and  footman  turned  out  in  black  worsted  epaulets  in  honor 
of  the  illustrious  deceased.  It  is  not  every  day  that  a  man  gets 
a  chance  of  publicly  bewailing  the  loss  of  an  earl  his  relative. 
I  suppose  Twysden  took  many  hundred  people  into  his  confidence 
on  this  matter,  and  bewailed  his  uncle's  death  and  his  own  wrongs 
while  clinging  to  many  scores  of  button-holes. 

And  how  did  poor  Philip  bear  the  disappointment  ?  He  must 
have  felt  it,  for  I  fear  we  ourselves  had  encouraged  him  in  the 
hope  that  his  grand-uncle  would  do  something  to  relieve  his  ne- 
cessity. Philip  put  a  bit  of  crape  round  his  hat,  wrapped  him- 
self in  his  shabby  old  mantle,  and  declined  any  outward  show  of 
grief  at  all.  If  the  old  man  had  left  him  money,  it  had  been 
well.  As  he  did  not — a  puff  of  cigar,  perhaps,  ends  the  sen- 
tence, and  our  philosopher  gives  no  further  thought  to  his  disap- 
pointment. Was  not  Philip  the  poor  as  lordly  and  independent 
as  Philip  the  rich  V  A  struggle  with  poverty  is  a  wholesome 
wrestling-match  at  three  or  five  and  twenty.  The  sinews  are 
young,  and  are  braced  by  the  contest.  It  is  upon  the  aged  that 
the  battle  falls  hardly,  who  are  weakened  by  failing  health,  and 
perhaps  enervated  by  long  years  of  prosperity. 

Firmin's  broad  back  could  carry  a  heavy  burden,  and  he  was 
glad  to  take  all  the  work  which  fell  in  his  way.  Phipps,  of  the 
Daily  Intelligencer,  wanting  an  assistant, Thi lip  gladly  sold  four 
hours  of  his  day  to  Mr.  Phipps:  translated  page  after  page  of 
newspapers,  French  and  German;  took  an  occasional  turn  at 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  gave  an  account  of*  a  sitting  of 
importance,  and  made  himself  quite  an  active  lieutenant.  "He 
began  positively  to  save  money.     He  wore  dreadfully  shabby 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROTJGII   TIIE   WORLD.  251 

clothes,  to  be  sure ;  for  Charlotte  could  not  go  to  his  chamber 
and  mend  his  rags  as  the  Little  Sister  had  done  'u  but  when  Mrs. 
Baynes  abused  him  for  his  shabby  appearance — and  indeed  it 
must  have  been  mortifying  sometimes  to  see  the  fellow  in  his  old 
clothes  swaggering  aboutin  Madame  Smolensk's  apartments,  talk- 
ing loud,  contradicting  and  laying  down  the  law—  Charlotte  defend- 
ed her  maligned  Phi  rip.  "  Do  you  know  why  Monsieur  Philip 
has  those  shabby  clothes  V"  she  asked  of  Madame  de  Smolensk. 
"Because  he  has  been  sending  money  to  his  father^  America." 
And  Smolensk  said  that  Monsieur  Philip  was  a  brave  young  man, 
and  that  he  might  come  dressed  like  an  Iroquois  to  her  soiree, 
and  he  should  be  welcome.  And  Mrs.  Baynes  was  rude  to  Philip 
when  he  was  present,  and  scornful  in  her  remarks  when  he  was 
absent.  And  Philip  trembled  before  Mrs.  Baynes ;  and  he  took 
her  boxes  on  the  ear  with  much  meekness  ;  for  was  not  his  Char- 
lotte a  hostage  in  her  mother's  hands,  and  might  not  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral B.  make  that  poor  little  creature  suffer  ? 

One  or  two  Indian  ladies  of  Mrs.  Baynes'  acquaintance  hap- 
pened to  pass  this  winter  in  Paris,  and  these  persons,  who  had 
furnished  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg  St.  PJonore  or  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  rode  in  their  carriages  with,  very  likely,  a  footman 
on  the  box,  rather  looked  down  upon  Mrs.  Baynes  for  living  in 
a  boarding-house,  and  keeping  no  equipage.  No  woman  likes 
to  be  looked  down  upon  by  any  other  woman,  especially  by  such 
a  creature  as  Mrs.  Batters,  the  lawyer's  wife,  from  Calcutta,  who 
was  not  in  society,  and  did  not  go  to  Government  House,  and 
here  was  driving  about  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  giving  her- 
self such  airs,  indeed  !  So  was  Mrs.  Doctor  Macoon,  with  her 
ladjfs-mau/,  anfl  her  man-cook,  and  her  open  carriage,  and  her 
close  carriage.  (Pray  read  these  words  with  the  most  withering 
emphasis  which  you  can  lay  upon  them.)  And  who  was  Mrs. 
Maroon,  pray  ?  Madame  Beret,  the  French  milliner's  daughter, 
neither  more  nor  less.  And  this  creature  must  scatter  her  mud 
over  her  betters  who  went  on  foot.  "  I  am  telling  my  poor  girls, 
madame,"  she  would  say  to  Madame  Smolensk,  "that  if  1  had 
1>< 'en  a  milliner's  girl,  or  their  father  had  been  a  pettifogging  at- 
torney, and  not  a  soldier,  who  has  served  his  sovereign  in  every 
quarter  of  the  world,  they  would  be  belter  dresseilr  than  they  are 
now,  poor  chicks  ! — we  might  have  a  fine  apartment  in  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Honore — we  need  not  live  at  a  boarding-house." 

u  And  \t'  I  had  been  a  milliner,  Madame  la  Generale,"  cried 
Smolensk,  with  spirit,  "perhaps  I  should  not  have  had  need  to 
keep  a  boarding-house.  My  father  was  a  general  officer,  and 
served  his  emperor  too.  But  what  will  you  ?  We  have,  all  to  do 
disagreeable  things,  and  to  live  with  disagreeable  people,  ma- 
dame !"  And  with  this  Smolensk  makes  Mrs.  General  Baynes  a 
fine  courtesy,  and  goes  off  to  other  affairs  or  guesfcs.  She  was  of 
the  opinion  of  manj  of  Philip's  friends.    "  Ah,  Monsieur  Philip," 


252  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

she  said  to  him,  "  when  you  are  married,  you  will  live  far  from 
that  woman  ;  is  it  not?" 

Hearing  that  Mrs.  Batters  was  going  to  the  Tuileries,  I  am 
sorry  to  say  a  violent  emulation  inspired  Mrs.  Baynes,  and  she 
never  was  "easy  until  she  persuaded  her  general  to  take  her  to 
the  embassador's,  and  to  the  entertainments  of  the  citizen  king 
who  governed  France  in  those  days.  It  would  cost  little  or 
nothing.  Charlotte  must  be  brought  out.  Her  aunt,  MacWhir- 
ter,  from  Tfurs,  had  sent  Charlotte  a  present  of  money  for  a 
dress.  To  do  Mrs.  Baynes  justice,  she  spent  very  little  money 
upon  her  own  raiment,  and  extracted  from  one  of  her  trunks  a 
costume  which  had  done  duty  at  Barrackpore  and  Calcutta. 
"  After  hearing  that  Mrs.  Batters  went,  I  knew  she  never  would 
be  easy,"  General  Baynes  said,  with  a  sigii.  His  wife  denied 
the  accusation  as  an  outrage,  said  that  men  always  imputed  the 
worst  motives  to  woman  ;  whereas  her  wish,  heaven  knows," was 
only  to  see  her  darling  child  properly  presented,  and  her  husband 
in  his  proper  rank  in  the  world.  And  Charlotte  looked  lovely, 
upon  the  evening  of  the  ball ;  and  Madame  Smolensk  dressed 
Charlotte's  hair  very  prettily,  and  offered  to  lend  Auguste  to  ac- 
company the  general's  carriage  ;  but  Ogoost  revolted,  and  said, 
"  Non,  merce !  he  would  do  anything  for  the  general  and  Miss 
Charlotte— but  for  the  generate,  no,  no,  no  1"  and  he  made  signs 
of  violent  abnegation.  And  though  Charlotte  looked  as  sweet 
as  a  rose-bud,  she  had  little  pleasure  in  her  ball,  Philip  not  being 
present.  And  how  could  he  be  present  who  had  but  one  old  coat 
and  holes  in  his  boots  ? 

So,  you  see,  after  a  sunny  autumn,  a  cold  winter  comes,  when 
the  wind  is  bad  for  delicate  chests,  and  muddy  for  little  shoes. 
How  could  Charlotte  come  out  at  eight  o'clock  through  mud  or 
snow  of  a  winter's  morning,  if  she  had  been  out  at  an  evening 
party  late  overnight  V  Mrs.  General  Baynes  began  to  go  out  a 
good  deal  to  the  Paris  evening  parties— I  mean  to  the  parties  of 
us  Trojans — parties  where  there  are  forty  English  people,  three 
Frenchmen,  and  a  German  who  plays  the  piano.  Charlotte 
was  very  much  admired.  The  fame  of  her  good  looks  spread 
abroad.  I  promise  you  that  there  were  persons  of  much  more 
importance  than  the  poor  Vicomte  de  'Gargon-boutique  who 
were  charmed  by  her  bright  eyes,  her  bright  smiles,  her  artless, 
rosy  beauty.  Why,  little"  Hely  of  the  Embassy  actually  invited 
himself  to  Mrs.  Doctor  Macoon's,  in  order  to  see  this  young 
beauty,  and  danced  with  her  without  ceasing.  Mr.  Hely,  who 
was  trie  pink  of  fashion,  you  know  ;  who  danced  with  the  royal 
princesses  ;  and  was  at  all  the  grand  parties  of  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain.  He  saw  her  to  her  carriage  (a  very  shabby  fly,  it 
must  be  confessed ;  but  Mrs.  Baynes  toid  him  they  had  been  ac- 
customed to  a  very  different  kind  of  equipage  in  India).  He 
actually  called  at  the  boarding-house  and  left  his  card,  M.  Wal- 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THK    WOULD.  253 

singham  He!y,  attache  a  I'Embassade  de  S.  M.  Britannique,  for 
General  Baynes  and  his  lady.  To  what  balls  would  Mrs.  Baynes 
like  to  go  ?  to  the  Tuileries  ?  to  the  Embassy  ?  to  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain  ?  to  the  Faubourg  St.  lfcmore  ?  I  could 
name  many  more  persons  of  distinction  who  were  fascinated  by 
pretty  Miss  Charlotte.  Her  mother  felt  more  and  more  ashamed 
of  the  shabby  fly  in  which  our  young  lady  was  conveyed  to  and 
from  her  parties — of  the  shabby  fly,  and  of  that  shabby  cavalier 
who  was  in  waiting  sometimes  to  put  Miss  Charlotte  into  her 
carriage.  Charlotte's  mother's  ears  were  only  too  acute  when 
disparaging  remarks  were  made  about  that  cavalier.  What? 
engaged  to  that  queer  red-bearded  feliow,  with  the  ragged  shirt- 
collars,  who  trod  upon  everybody  in  the  pollftiV  A  newspaper 
writer,  was  he  V  The  son  of  that  doctor  who  ran  away  after 
cheating  everybody  ?  What  a  very  odd  thing  of  General 
Baynes  to  think  of  engaging  his  daughter  to  such  a  person  ! 

So  Mr.  Firmin  was  not  asked  to  many  distinguished  houses, 
where  his  Charlotte  was  made  welcome;  where  there  was  dan- 
ciug  in  the  saloon,  very  mild  negus  and  cakes  in  the  salle-a-man- 
ger,  and  cards  in  the  lady's  bedroom.  And  he  did  not  care  to 
be  asked  ;  and  he  made  himself  very  arrogant  and  disagreeable 
when  he  was  asked :  and  he  would  upset  tea-trays,  and  burst 
out  into  roars  of  laughter  at  all  times,  and  swagger  about  the 
drawing-room  as  if  he  was  a  m?*n  of  importance — he  indeed — 
giving  himself  such  airs,  because  his  grandfather's  brother  was 
an  earl !  ^nd  what  had  the  earl  done  for  him,  pray  ?  And 
what  right  uad  he  to  bursfr  out  laughing  when  Miss  Crackley 
sang  a  little  out  of  tune  ?  What  could  General  Baynes  mean 
by  selecting  such  a  husband  for  that  nice,  modest  young  girl  ? 

The  old  general,  sitting  in  the  best  bedroom,  placidly  playing 
at  whist  with  the  other  British  fogies,  does  not  hear  these  re- 
marks, perhaps  ;  but  little  Mrs.  Baynes,  with  her  eager  eyes  and 
ears,  sees  and  knows  everything.  Many  people  have  told  her 
that  Philip  is  a  bad  match  for  his  daughter.  She  has  heard  him 
contradict  calmly  quite  wealthy  people.  Mr.  Hobday,  who  has 
a  house  in  Carlton  Terrace,  London,  and  goes  to  the  first  houses 
in  Paris,  Philip  has  contradicted  him  point-blank,  until  Mr.  Hob- 
day turned  quite  red,  and  Mrs.  Hobday  did  n't  know  where  to 
look.  Mr.  Peplow,  a  clergyman  and  a  baronet's  eldest  son,  who 
will  be  one  day  the  Rev.  Sir.  Charles  Peplow  of  Peplow  Manor, 
was  praising  Tomlinson's  poems,  and  offered  to  read  out  at  Mr. 
Badger's — and  he  reads  very  finely,  though  a  little  perhaps 
through  his  nose — and  when  he  was  going  to  begin  Mr.  Firmin 
said,  uMy  dear  Peplow,  for  heaven's  sake  don't  give  us  any  of 
that  rot.  I  would  as  soon  hear  one  of  your  own  prize  poems." 
Rot,  indeed  !  What  an  expression  !  Of  course  Mr.  Peplow  was 
very  much  annoyed.  And  this  from  a  nu  re  newspaper  writer  1 
Never  heard  of  such  rudeness  1     Mrs.  Tuffin  said  she  took  her 


254  THE    ADVENTURES  , OF    PHILIP 

line  at  once  after  seeing  this  Mr.  Firmin.  "He  may  be  an  Carl's 
grand-nephew,  for  what  I  care.  He  may  have  been  at  college  ; 
he  has  not  learned  good  manners  there.  He  may  be  clever ;  I 
don't  profess  to  be  a  judge.  But  hcis  most  overbearing,  clumsy, 
and  disagreeable.  I  shall  not  ask  him  to  my  Tuesdays ;  and 
Emma,  if  he  asks  you  to  dance,  I  beg  you  will  do  no  such  thing  !" 
A  bull,  you  understand,  in  a  meadow,  or  on  a  prairie  with  a  herd 
of  buffaloes,  is  a  noble  animal ;  but  a  bull  in  a  china-shop  is  out 
of  place;  and  even  so  was  Philip  among  the  crockery  of  those 
little  simple  tea-parties,  where  his  mane,  and  hoofs,  and  roar 
caused  endless  disturbance. 

These  remarks  concerning  the  accepted  son-in-law  Mrs. 
Baynes  heard,  an<Jj  at  proper  moments,  repeated.  She  ruled 
Baynes  ;  but  was  very  cautious,  and  secretly  afraid  of  him. 
Once  or  twice  she  had  gone  too  far  in  her  dealings  with  the 
quiet  old  man,  and  he  had  revolted,  put  her  down,  and  never 
forgiven  her.  Beyond  a  certain  point  she  dared  not  provoke 
her  husband.  She  would  say,  "  Well,  Baynes,  marriage  is  a 
lottery;  and  I  am  afraid  our  poor  Charlotte  has  not  pulled  a 
prize ;"  on  which  the  general  would  reply,  "  No  more  have 
others,  my  dear  !"  and  so  drop  the  subject  for  the  time  being. 
On  another  occasion  it  would  be,  "  You  heard  how  rude  Philip 
Firmin  was  to  Mr.  Hobday  ?"  And  the  general  would  answer, 
"  I  was  at  cards,  my  dear."  Again  she  might  say,  "  Mrs.  Tuffin 
says  she  will  not  have  Philip  Firmin  to  her  Tuesdays,  my  dear  ;" 
and  the,  general's  rejoinder  would  be,  "  Begad,  so^much  the 
better  for  him  !"  "  Ah,"  she  groans,  "  he  's  always  offending 
some  one !"  "  I  don't  think  he  seems  to  please  you  much, 
Eliza  !"  responds  the  general ;  and  she  answers,  "  No,  he  don't, 
and  that  I  confess  ;  and  I  don't  like  to  think,  Baynes,  of  my  sweet 
child  given  up  to  certain  poverty,  and  such  a  man  !"  At  which 
the  general,  with  some  of  his  garrison  phrases,  would  break  out 
with  a  "  Hang  it,  Eliza,  do  you  suppose  I  think  it  is  a  very 
good  match  ?"  and  turn  to  the  wall,  and,  I  hope,  to  sleep. 

As  for  poor  little  Charlotte,  her  mother  is  not  afraid  of  little 
Charlotte ;  and  when  the  two  are  alone  the  poor  child  knows 
she  is  to  be  made  wretched  by  her  mother's  assaults  upsn  Philip. 
Was  there  ever  anything  so  bad  as  his  behavior,  to  burst  out 
laughing  when  Miss  Crackley  was  singing  ?  Was  he  called 
upon  to  contradict  Sir  Charles  Peplow  in  that  abrupt  way,  and 
as  good  as  tell  him  he  was  a  fool  ?  It  was  very  wrong  certainly, 
and  poor  Charlotte  thinks,  with  a  blush  perhaps,  how  she  was 
just  at  the  point  of  admiring  Sir  Charles  Peplow's  reading  very 
much,  and  had  been  prepared  to  think  Tomlinson's  poems  de- 
lightful, until  Philip  ordered  her  to  adopt  a  contemptuous  opin- 
ion of  the  poet.  And  did  you  see  how  he  was  dressed?  a  button 
wanting  on  his  waistcoat,  and  a  hole Jn  his  boot  ? 

"  Mamma,"  cries  Charlotte,  •  turning  very  red.  "  He  might 
have  been  better  dressed — if — if  " 


ON   IIIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  255 

"  That  is,  you  would  like  your  own  father  to  be  in  prison,  your 
mother  to  beg  her  bread,  your  sisters  to  go  in  rags,  and  your 
brothers  to  starve,  Charlotte,  in  order  that  we  should  pay  Philip 
Finnic  back  the  money  of  which  his  father  robbed  him !  Yes. 
That's  your  meaning.  You  need  n't  explain  yourself.  lean 
understand  quite  well,  thank  you.  Good-night.  I  hope  you  *ll 
sleep  well.  /  shan't,  after  this  conversation.  Good-night, 
Charlotte  !"  Ah,  me  !  O  course  of  true  love,  didst  thou  ever 
run  smooth  ?  As  we  peep  into  that  boarding-house — whereof  I 
have  already  described  the  mistress  as  wakeful  with  racking  care 
regarding  the  morrow,  wherein  lie  the  Miss  Bplderos,  who  must 
naturally  be  very  uncomfortable,  being  on  sufferance,  and,  as  it 
were,  in  pain  as  they  lie  on  their  beds — what  sorrows  do  we  not 
perceive  brooding  over  the  nightcaps  ?  There  is  poor  Char- 
lotte, who  has  said  her  prayer  for  her  Philip  ;  and  as  she  lays 
her  young  eyes  on  the  pillow,  they  wet  it  with  their  tears.  Why 
does  her  mother  for  ever  and  for  ever  speak  against  him  V  Why 
is  her  father  so  cold  when  Philip's  name  is  mentioned?  Could 
Charlotte  ever  think  of  any  but  him  ?  Oh,  never,  never  !  And 
so  the  wet  eyes  are  veiled  at  last,  and  close  in  doubt  and  fear 
and  care.  And  in  the  next  room  to  Charlotte's  a  little  yellow 
old  woman  lies  stark  awake  ;  and  in  the  bed  by  her  side  an  old 
gentleman  can't  close  his  eyes  for  thinking — my  poor  girl  is 
promised  to  a  beggar.  All  the  fine  hopes  which  we  had  of  his 
getting  a  legacy  from  that  lord  are  over.  Poor  child,  poor  child, 
what  will  become  of  her  ? 

Now,  Two  Sticks,  let  us  fly  over  the  river  Seine  to  Mr.  Philip 
Firmin's  quarters  ;  to  Philip's  house,  who  has  not  got  a  penny ; 
to  Philip's  bed,  who  has  nude  himself  so  rude  and  disagreeable 
at  that  tea-party.  He  has  no  idea  that  he  has  offended  any 
body.  He  has  gone  home  perfectly  well  pleased.  He  has  kicked 
off  the  tattered  boot.  He  has  found  a  little  fire  lingering  in  his 
stove  by  which  he  has  smoked  the  pipe  of  thought.  Ere  he  has 
jumped  into  his  bed  he  lias  knelt  a  moment  beside  it;  and  with 
all  liis  heart — oh  !  with  all  his  heart  and  soul — has  committed 
the  dearest  one  to  heaven's  loving  protection !  And  now  he 
sleeps  like  a  child. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

IN    WHICH    WE    STILL     HOVER    ALOUT    THE    ELYSIAX    FIELDS  . 

The  describcr  and  biographer  of  my  friend  Mr.  Philip  Firmin 
has  tried  to  extenuate  nothing;  and,  I  hope,  has  set  down 
naught  iu  malice.  '  If  Philip's  boots  had  holes  in  them,  I  have 
written  that  he  had  holes  in  his  boots.  If  he  had  a  red  heard, 
there  it  is  red  in  this  story.     I  might  have  oiled  it  with  a  tinge 


i 


•jit;  1H£    ADVENTURES    OF    tBlLLP 

of  brown,  and  painted  it  a  rich  auburn.  Toward  modest  people 
he  was  very  gentle  and  tender  ;  but  I  must  own  that  in  general 
society  he  was  not  always  an  agreeable  Companion.  He  was 
often  haughty  and  arrogant ;  he  was  impatient  of  old  stories;  he 
was  intolerant  of-commonp!aces.  Mrs.  Baynes'  anecdotes  of  her 
garrison  experiences  in  .India  and  Europe  got  a  very  impatient 
hearing  from  Mr.  Philip ;  and  though  little  Charlotte  gently  re- 
monstrated with  him,  saying,  "  Do,  do  let  mamma  tell  her  story 
out;  and.  don't  turn  away  and  talk  about  something  else  in  tho 
midst  of  it ;  and  don't  tell  her  you  have  heard  the  story  before, 
you  rude  man  !  If  she  is  not  pleased  with  you  she  is  angry  with 
me,  and  I  have  to  suffer  when  you  are  gone  away  " — Miss  Char- 
lotte did  not  say  how  much  she  had  to  suffer  when  Philip  was 
absent;  how  constantly  her  mother  found  fault  with  him;  what 
a  sad  life,  in  consequence  of  her  attachment  to  him,  the  young 
maiden  had  to  lead  ;  and  I  fear  that  clumsy  Philip,  in  his  selfish 
thoughtlessness,  did  not  take  enough  count  of  the  sufferings 
which  his  behavior  brought  on  the  girl.  You  see  T  am  acknowl- 
edging that  there  were  many  faults  on  his  side,  which,  perhaps, 
may  in  some  degree  excuse  or  account  for  those  which  Mrs. 
General  Baynes  certainly  committed  toward  him*  She  did  not 
love  Philip  naturally  ;  and  do  you  suppose  she  loved  him  because 
she  was  under  great  obligations  to  him  ?  Do  you  love  your 
creditor  because  you  owe  him  more  than  you  can  ever  pay  V  If 
I  never  paid  my  tailor,  should  I  be  on  good  terms  with  him  ?  I 
might  go  on  ordering  suits  of  clothes  from  now  to  the  year  nine- 
teen hundred  ;  but  I  should  hate  him  worse  year  after  year.  I 
should  find  fault  with  his  cut  and  his  cloth  ;  I  dare  say  I  should 
end  by  thinking  his  bills  extortionate,  though  I  never  paid  them. 
Kindness  is  very  indigestible.  It  disagrees  with  very  proud 
stomachs.  I  wonder  was  that  traveller  who  fell  among  the  thieves 
grateful  afterward  to  the  Samaritan  who  rescued  him  ?  He 
gave  money  certainly  ;  but  he  did  n't  miss  it.  The  religious 
opinions  of  Samaritans  are  lamentably  heterodox.  O  brother ! 
may  we  help  the  fallen  still,  though  they  never  pay  us,  and  may 
we  lend  without  exacting  the  usury  of  gratitude  ! 

Of  this  I  am  determined,  that  whenever  I  go  courting  again  I 
will  not  pay  my  addresses  to  my  dear  creature — day  after  day, 
and  from  year's  end  to  year's  end,  xary  likely,  with  the  dear  girl's 
mother,  father,  and  half  a  dozen  young  brothers  and  slaters  in 
the  room.  I  shall  begin  by  being  civil  to  the  old  lady,  of  course. 
She  is  flattered  at  first  by  having  a  young  fellow  coming  courting 
to  her  daughter.  She  calls  me  "dear  Edward;"  works  me  a 
pair  of  braces ;  writes  to  mamma  and  sisters,  and  so  forth.  Old 
gentleman  says,  "  Brown,  my  boy  ''—(I  am  here  fondly  imagining 
myself  to  be  a  young  fellow  named  Edward  Brown,  attached,  let 
-us  say,  to  Miss  Kate  Thompson) — Thompson,  I  say,  says,  "  Brown, 
my  boy,  come  to  dinner  at  seven.     Cover  laid  for  you  always ;" 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THK   WOKLP.  25  7 

and,  of  course,  delicious  thought  !  that  cover  is  by  dearest  Kate's 
side.  But  the  dinner  is  bad  sometimes.  Sometimes  1  come  late. 
■  Sometimes  things  are  going  badly  in  the  city.  Sometimes  Mrs. 
Thompson  is  out  of  humor — she  always  thought.  Kate  might 
have  done  better.  And  in  the.  midst  of  these  doubts  and  delays, 
suppose  Jones  appears,  who  is  older,  but  of  a  better  temper,  a 
better  family,  and — plague  on  him  ! — twice  as  rich  ?  What  are 
engagements?  What  are  promises?  It  is  sometimes  an  affec- 
tionate mother's  duty  to  break  her  promise,  and  that  duty  the 
resolute  matron  will  do. 

Then  Edward  is  Edward  no  more,  but  Mr.  Brown;  or,  worse 
still,  nameless  in  the  house.  Then  the  knife  and  fork  are  re- 
moved from  poor  Kate's  side,  and  she  swallows  her  own  sad  meal 
in  tears.  Then  if  one  of  the  little  Thompsons  says  artlessly, 
"Papa,  I  met  Teddy  Brown  in  Regent  street;  he  looked  so-^-" 
"Hold  your  tongue,  unfeeling  wretch  !"  cries  mamma.  "  Look 
at  that  dear  child  I"  Kate  is  swooning.  She  has  sal-volatile. 
The  medical  man  is  sent  for.  And  presently — Charles  Jones  is 
taking  Kate  Thompson  to  dinner.  Long  voyages  are  dangerous  ; 
so  are  long  courtships.  In  long  voyages  passengers  perpetually 
quarrel  (for  that  Mrs.  General  could  vouch)  ;  in  long  courtships 
the  same  danger  exists ;  and  how  much  the  more  when  in  that 
latter  ship  you  have  a  mother  who  is  for  ever  putting  fn  her  oar  1 
And  then  to  think  of  the  annoyance  of  that  love  voyage,  when 
you  and  the  beloved  and  beloved's  papa,  mamma,  half  a  dozen 
brothers  and  sisters,  are  all  in  one  cabin  !  For  economy's  sake 
the  Bayneses  had  no  sitting-room  at  madame's — for  you  could 
not  call  that  room  on  the  second  floor  a  sitting-room  which  had 
two  beds  in  it,  and  in  which  the  young  ones  practised  the  piano, 
with  poor  Charlotte  as  their  mistress.  Philip's  courting  had  to 
take  place  for  the  most  part  before  the  whole  family  ;  and  to 
make  love  under  such  difficulties  would  have  been  horrible  and 
maddening  and  impossible  almost,  only  we  have  admitted  that 
our  young  friends  had  little  walks  in  the  Champs  Elysees ;  and 
then  you  must  own  that  it  must  have  been  delightful  for  them  to 
write  each  other  perpetual  little  notes,  which  were  delivered 
occultly  under  the  very  nose  of  papa  and  mamma,  and  in  the 
actual  presence  of  the  other  boarders  at  madame's,  who,  of 
course,  never  saw  anything  that  was  going  on.  Yes,  those  sly 
monkeys  actually  made  little  post-offices  about  the  room.  There 
was,  for  instance,  the  clock  on  the  mantle-piece  in  the  salon  on 
which  was  carved  the  old  French  allegory,  "  Le  temps  fait  passer 
rai/K.ur."  One  of  those  artful  young  people  would  pop  a  note 
into  Time's  boat,  where  you  may  be  sure  no  one  saw  it.  The 
trictrac  board  was  another  post-office.  So  was  the  drawer  of 
the  music-stand.  >So  was  the  Sevres  china  flower-pot,  etc.,  etc; 
to  each  of  which  repositories  in  its  turn  the  lovers  confided  the 
delicious  secrets  of  their  wooing. 


258  THE   ADVENTURES    OP    PHILIP 

Have  you  ever  looked  «at  your  love-letters  to  Darby,  when  you 
were  courting,  dear  Joau  ?  They  arc  sacred  pages  to  read. 
You  have  his  tied  up  somewhere  in  a  faded  ribbon.  You  scarce 
need  spectacles  as  you  look  at  them.  The  hair  grows  black ;  the 
eyes  moisten  and  brighten  ;  the  cheeks  fill  and  blush  again.  I 
protest  there  i3  nothing  so  beautiful  as  Darby  and  Joan  in  the 
world.  I  hope  Philip  and  his  wife  will  be  Darby  and  Joan  to 
the  end.  I  tell  you  they  are  married,  and  don't  want  to  make 
any  mysteries  about  the  business.  I  disdain  that  sort  of  artifice. 
In  the  days  of  the  old  three-volume  novels,  did  n't  you*  always 
look  at  the  end  to  see  that  Louisa  and  the  earl  (or  young  clergy- 
man, as  the  case  might  be)  were  happy  ?  If  they  died,  or  met 
with  other  grief,  for  my  part  I  put  the  book  away.  This  pair, 
then,  are  well ;  are  married ;  are,  I  trust,  happy ;  but  before 
they  married,  and  afterward,  they  had  great  griefs  and  troubles  ; 
as  no  doubt  you  have  had,  dear  sir  or  madam,  since  you  under- 
went that  ceremony.  Married  ?  Of  course  they  are.  Do  you 
suppose  I  would  have  allowed  little  Charlotte  to  meet  Philip  in 
the  Champs  Elysees  yf^th.  only  a  giddy  little  boy  of  a  brother  for 
a  companion,  who  would  turn  away  to  see  Punch,  Guignol,  the 
soldiers  marching  by,  the  old  woman's  gingerbread  and  toffy 
stall,  and  so  forth  ?  Do  you,  I  say,  suppose  I  would  have  al- 
lowed thoSe  two  to  go  out  together,  unless  they  were  to  be 
married  afterward  ?  Out  walking  together  they  did  go ;  and 
once,  as  they  were  arm-in-arm  in  "the  Champs  Elysees,  whom 
should  they  see  in  a  fine  open  carriage  but  young  Twysden  and 
Captain  and  Mrs.  Woolcombe,  to  whom,  as  they  passed,  Philip 
doffed  his  hat  with  a  profound  bow,  and  whom  he  further  saluted 
with  a  roar  of  immense  laughter.  Woolcombe  must  have  heard 
the  peal.  I  dare  say  it  brought  a  little  brush  into  Mrs.  Wool- 
combe's  cheeks,  and — and  so,  no  doubt,  added  to  the  many  at- 
tractions of  that  elegant  lady.  I  have  no  secrets  about  my 
characters,  and  speak  my  mind  about  them  quite  freely.  They 
said  that  Woolcombe  was  the  most  jealous,  stingy,  ostentatious, 
cruel  little  brute  ;  that  he  led  his  wife  a  dismal  -life.  Well  ?  If 
he  did  ?  I'm.  sure  I  don't  care.  "  There  is  that  swaggering 
bankrupt  beggar  Firmin  !"  cries  the  tawny  bridegroom,  biting 
his  mustache.  "  Impudent  ragged  blackguard,"  says  Twysden 
minor,  "  I  saw  him." 

"  Had  n't  you  better  stop  the  carriage  and  abuse  him  to  him- 
self and  not  to  me?"  says  Mrs.  Woolcombe,  languidly,  flinging 
herself  back  on  her  cushions. 

"  Go  on.  Hang  you  !  Ally  !  Vite  !"  cry  the  gentlemen  in 
the  carriage  to  the  laquais  de  place  on  the  box. 

"I  can  fancy  you  don't  care  about  seeing  him,"  resumes  Mrs. 
Woolcombe.  "  He  has  a  violent  temper,  and  I  would  not  have 
you  quarrel  for  the  world."  So  I  suppose  Woolcombe  again 
swears  at  the  laquais  de  place  ;  and  the  happy  couple,  as  the 
saying  is,  roll  away  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogue. 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  259 

9 
"  What  makes  you  laugh  so  ?"  says  little  Charlotte,  fondly,  as 
she  trips  along  by  her  lover's  side. 

"  Because  I  am  so  happy,  my  dearest  1"  says  the  other,  squeez- 
ing to  his  heart  the  little  hand  that  lies  on  his  arm.  As  he  thinks 
on  yonder  woman,  and  then  looks  into  the  pure  eager  face  of 
the  sweet  girl  beside  him,  the  scornful  laughter  occasioned  by  the 
sudden  meeting  which  is  just  over  hushes,  and  an  immense  feel- 
ing of  thankfulness  fills  the  breast  of  the  young  man  ;  thankful- 
ness for  the  danger  from  which  he  has  escaped,  and  for  the 
blessed  prize  which  has  fallen  to  him. 

But  Mr.  Philip's  walks  were"  not  to  be  all  as  pleasant  as  this 
walk  ;  and  we  are  now  doming  to  a  history  of  wet,  slippery 
roads,  bad  times,  and  winter  weather.  All  I  can  promise  about 
this  gloomy  part  is,  that  it  shall  not  be  a  long  story.  You  will 
acknowledge  we  made  very  short  work  with  the  love-making, 
which  I  give  you  my  word  I  consider  to  be  the  very  easiest  part 
of  the  novel-writer's  business.  As  those  rapturous  scenes  be- 
tween the  captain  and  the  heroine  are  going  on,  a  writer  who 
knows  his  business  may  be  thinking  about  anything  else — about 
the  ensuing  chapter,  or  about  what  he  is  going  to  have  for  din- 
ner, or  what  you  will ;  therefore,  as  we  passed  over  the  raptures 
and  joys  of  the  courting"  so  very  curtly,  you  must  please  to  grati- 
fy me  by  taking  the  grief  in  a  very  short  measure.  If  our  young 
people  are  going  to  suffer,  let  the  pain  be  soon  over.  Sit  down 
in  the  chair,  Miss  Baynes,  if  you  please,  and  you,  Mr.  Firmin,  in 
this.  Allow  me  to  examine  you ;  just  open  your  mouth,  if  you 
please;  and — oh,  oh,  my  dear  Miss — there,  it  is  out !  A  little 
eau  de  Cologne  and  water,  my  dear.  And  now,  Mr.  Firmin,  if 
you  please,  we  will — what  fangs !  what  a  big  one  !  Two  guineas. 
Thank  you.  Good-morning.  Come  to  me  once  a  year.  John, 
show  "in  the  next  party.  About  the  ensuing  painful  business, 
then,  I  protest'I  don't  intend  to  be  much  longer  occupied  than 
the  humane  and  dexterous  operator  to  whom  I  have  made  so  bold 
as  to  liken  myself.  If  my  pretty  Charlotte  is  to  have  a  tooth  out, 
it  shall  be  removed  as  gently  as  possible,  poor  dear.  As  for 
Philip,  and  his  great  red-bearded  jaw,  I  don't  care  so  much  if  the 
tug  makes  Jiim  roar  a  little.  And  yet  they  remain,  they  remain 
and  throb  in  after-life,  those  wounds  of  early  days.  Have  I  not 
said  how,  as  I  chanced  to  walk  with  Mr.  Firmin  in  Paris,  many 
years  after  the  domestic  circumstances  here  recorded,  he  paused 
before  the  window  of  that  house  near  the  Champs  Elysees  where 
Madame  Smolensk  once  held  her  pension,  shook  his  fist  at  a 
jalousie  of  the  now  dingy  and  dilapidated  mansion,  and  intimat- 
ed tome  that  he  had  undergone  severe  sufferings  in  the  chamber 
lighted  by  yonder  window  ?  So  have  we  all  suffered  ;  so,  very 
likely,  my  dear  young  miss  or  master  who  peruses  this  modest 
page,  will  you  have  to  suifer  in  your  time.  You  will  not  die  of 
the  operation,  most  probably ;  but  it  is  painful ;  it  makes  a  gap 


L'tiO  *  THE    ADVKNTUKES    Of    PHILIP 

in  the  mouth,  voyez-vous  f  and  years  and  years,  maybe,  after,  as 
you  think  of  it,  the  smart  is  renewed,  and  the  dismal  tragedy 
enacts  itself  over  again. 

Philip  liked  his  little  maiden  to  go  out,  to  dance,  to  laugh,  to 
be  admired,  to  be  happy.  In  her  artless  way  she  told  him  of  her 
balls,  her  tea-parties,  her  pleasures,  her  partners.  In  a  girl's  first 
little  season  nothing  escapes  her.  Have  you  not  wondered  to 
hear  them  tell  about  the  events  of  the  evening,  about  the  dress- 
es of  the  dowager?,  about  the  compliments  of  the  young  men, 
about  the  behavior  of  the  girls,  and  what  not  ? 

Little  Charlotte  used  to  enact  the  overnight's  comedy  for 
Philip,  pouring  out  her  young  heart  in  her  prattle  as  her  little 
feet  skipped  by  his  side.  And  to  hear  Philip  roar  with  laughter  ! 
It  would  have  done  you  good.  You  might  have  heard  him  from 
the  Obelisk  to  the  Etoile.  People  turned  round  to  look  at  him, 
and  shrugged  their  shoulders  wonderingly,  as  good-natured 
French  folks  will  do.  Plow  could  a  man  who  had  been  lately 
ruined,  a  man  who  had  just  been  disappointed  of  a  great  legacy 
from  the  earl  his  great-uncle,  a  man  whose  boots  were  in  that 
lamentable  conditon,  laugh  so,  and  have  such  high  spirits?  To 
think  of  such  an  impudent  ragged  blackguard,  as  Ringwood 
Twysden  called  his  cousin,  daring  to  be  happy !  The  fact  is, 
that  clap  of  laughter  smote  those  three  Twysden  people  like 
three  boxes  on  the  ear,  and  made,  all  their  cheeks  tingle  and 
blush  at  once.  At  Philip's  merriment,  clouds  which  had  come 
over  Charlotte's  sweet  face  would  be  chased  away.  As  she  clung 
to  him  doubts  which  throbbed  at  the  girl's  heart  would  vanish. 
When  she  was  acting  those  scenes  of  the  past  night's  entertain- 
ment she  was  not  always  happy.  As  she  talked  and  prattled 
her  own  spirits  would  rise,  and  hope  and  natural  joy  would 
spring  in  her  heart  again,  and  come  flushing  up  to  her  cheek. 
Charlotte  was  being  a  hypocrite,  as,  thank  heaven,  all  good 
women  sometimes  are.  She  had  griefs  :  she  hid  them  from  him. 
She  had  doubts  and  fears :  they  fled  when  he  came  in  view,  and 
she  clung  to  his  strong  arm,  and  looked  in  his  honest  blue  eyes. 
She  did  not  tell  him  of  those  painful  nights  when  her  eyes  were 
wakeful  and  tearful.  A  yellow  old  woman  in  a  white  jacket, 
with  a  nightcap  and  a  night-light,  would  come,  night  after  night, 
to  the  side  of  her  little  bed,  and  there  stand,  and  with  her  grim 
voice  bark  against  Philip.  That  old  woman's  lean  finger  would 
point  to  all  the  rents  in  poor  Philip's  threadbare  paletot  of  a 
character — point  to  the  holes,  and  tear  them  wider  open.  She 
would  stamp  on  those  muddy  boots.  She  would  throw  up  her 
peaked  nose  at  the  idea  of  the  poor. fellow's  pipe — his  pipe,  his 
great  companion  and  comforter  when  his  dear  little  mistress  was 
away.  She  would  discourse  on  the  partners  of  the  night;  the 
evident  attentions  of  this  gentleman,  the  politeness  and  high- 
breeding  of  that. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  261 

Ami  when  that  dreary  nightly  torture  was  over,  and  Charlotte's 
mother  had  left  the  poor  child  to  herself,  sometimes  Madame  Smo- 
lensk, sitting  up  over  her  ledgers  and  bills,  and  wakeful  "with  her 
own  cares,  would  steal  up  and  console  poor  Charlotte  ;  and  bring 
her  some  tisane,  excellent  for  the  nerves;  and  talk  to  her  about 
— about  the  subject  of  which  Charlotte  best  liked  to  hear.  And 
though  Smolensk  was  civil  to  Mrs.  Bay  lies  in  the  morning,  as 
her  professional  duty  obliged  her  to  be,  she  has  owned  that  she 
often  felt  a  desire  to  strangle  Madame  la  Generate  for  her  con- 
duct to  her  little  angel  of  a  daughter ;  and  all  because  Monsieur 
Philippe  smells  the  pipe,  parbleu  !  "  What  V  a  family  that  owes 
you  the  bread  which  they  eat;  and  they  draw  back  for  a  pipe ! 
The  cowards,  the  cowards  !  A  soldier's  daughter  is  not  afraid  of 
it.  Merci  !  Tenez,  M.  Philippe,"  she  said  to  our  friend  when 
matters  came  to  an  extremity. 

"  Do  you  know  what  in  your  place  I  would  do  ?  To  a  French- 
man I  would  not  say  so;  that  understands  itself.  But  these 
things  make  themselves  otherwise  in  England.  I  have  no  money, 
but  I  have  acachemire.  Take  him  ;  and,  if  I  were  you,  I  would 
make  a  little  voyage  to  Gretna  Grin." 

And  now,  if  you  please,  we  will  quit  the  Champs  Elysees.  We 
will  cross  the  road  from  madame's  boarding-house.  We  will  make 
our  way  into  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore,  and  actually  enter  a  gate 
over  which  the  L-on,  the  Un-c-rn,  and  the  R-y-1  Cr-wn  and 
A-ms  of  the  Three  K-ngd-ms  are  sculptured,  and  going  under  the 
porte-cochere,  and  turning  to  the  right,  ascend  a  little  stair,  and 
ask  of  the  attendant  on  the  landing  who  is  in  the  ehaneellerie  ? 
The  attendant  says  that  several  of  those  messieurs  y  sont.  In 
fact,  on  entering  the  room,  you  find  Mr.  tylotcomb — let  us  say — 
Mr.  Lowndes,  Mr.  Halkfn,  and  our  young  friend  Mr.  Walsing- 
ham  Hely,  seated  at  their  respective  tables  in  the  midst  of  con- 
siderable smoke.  Smoking  in  the  midst  of  these  gentlemen,  and 
bestriding  his  chair  as  though  it  were  his  horse,  sits  that  gallant 
young  Irish  chieftain,  The  O'Rourke.  Some  of  the  gentlemen 
are  copying,  in  a  large  handwriting,  dispatches  on  foolscap  paper. 
*I  would  rather  be  torn  to  pieces  by  O'Rourke-'s  wildest  horses 
than  be  understood  to  hint  at  what  those  dispatches,  at  what 
those  dispatch-boxes  contain.  Perhaps  they  contain  some  news 
from  the  Court  of  Spain,  where  some  intrigues  are  carried  on, 
a  knowledge  of  which  would  make  your  hair  start  off  your  head ; 
perhaps  that  box,  for  which  a  messenger  is  waiting  in  a  neigh- 
boring apartment,  has  locked  up  twenty-four  yards  of  Chantilly 
lace  for  Lady  Belweather,  and  six  new  French  farces  for  Tom 
Tiddler,  of  the  Foreign  Office,  who  is  mad  about  the  theatre.  It 
is  years  and  years  ago ;  how  should  I  know  what  there  is  in  those 
dispatch-boxes  V 

But  the  work,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  not  very  pressing — for 
there  ia  only  Mr.  Chesham — did  I  say  Chesham  before,  by  the 


252  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

way?  You  may  call  him  Mr.  Sloanestreet  if  you  like..  There 
is  only  Chesharn  (and  he  always  takes  things  to  the  grand  se- 
rious) who  seems  to  be  much  engaged  in  writing;  and  the  con- 
versation goes  on. 

"  Who  gave  it  ?"  asks  Motcomb. 

"  The  black  man,  of  course,  gave  it.  We  would  not  pretend 
to  compete  with  such  a  long  purse  as  his.  You  should  have 
seen  what  faces  he  "made  at  the  bill !  Thirty  francs  a  bottle 
for  Rhine  wine.  He  grinned  with  the  most  horrible  agony  when 
he  read  the -addition.  He  almost  turned  yellow.  He  sent  away 
his  wife  early.  How  long  that  girl  was  hanging  about  London ; 
and  think  of  her  hooking  a  millionaire  at  last !  Othello  is  a 
frightful  screw,  and  diabolically  jealous  of  his  wife." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  little  man  who  got  so  dismally 
drunk,  and  began  to  cry  about  old  Ringwood  V" 

"  Twysden— the  woman's  brother.  Don't  you  know  Humbug. 
Twysden,  the  father  ?  The  youth  is  more  offensive  than  the 
parent." 

"  A  most  disgusting  little  beast.  Would  come  to  the  Varietes 
because  we  said  we  were  going  :  would  go  toJLamoignon's,  where 
the  Russians  gave  a  dance  and  a  lansquenet.  Why  did  n't  you 
come,  Hely?" 

Mr.  Hely.  I  tell  you  I  hate  the  whole  thing.  Those  painted 
old  actresses  give  me  the  horrors.  What  do  I  want  with  win- 
ning Motcomb's  money  who  has  n't  got  any  ?  Do  you  think  it. 
gives  me  any  pleasure  to  dance  with  old  Caradol  ?  She  puts 
me  in  mind  of  my  grandmother — only  she  is  older.  Do  you 
think  I  want  to  go  and  see  that  insane  old  Boutzoff  leering  at 
Corinne  and  Palmyrine,  and  making  a  group  of  three  old  women 
together?  I  wonder  how  you  fellows  can  go  on.  Aren't  you 
tired  of  truffles  and  ecrevisses  a  la  Bordelaise ;  and  those  old 
opera  people,  whose  withered  old  carcases  are  stuffed  with  them? 

The  O'R.  Tkere  was  Cerisette,  I  give  ye  me  honor.  Ye. 
never  saw.     She  fell  asleep  in  her  cheer — 

Mr.  Lowndes.     In  her  Jnchat,  O'R.  ?  . 

The  O'R.  Well,  in  her  chair  then  !  And  Figaroff  smayred 
her  feece  all  over  with  the  craym  out  of  a  Charlotte  Roose. 
She  's  a  regular  bird  and  mustache,  you  know,  Cerisette  has. 

Mr.  Hely.  ■  Charlotte,  Charlotte !  Oh !  (He  clutches  his^ 
hair  madly.     His  elbows  are  on  the  table.) 

Mr.  Lowndes.  It 's  that  girl  he  meets  at  the  tea-parties, 
where  he  goes  to.  be  admired. 

Mr.  Hely.  It  is  better  to  drink  tea  than,  like  you  fellows, 
to  muddle  what  brains  you  have  with  bad  champagne.  It  is 
better  to  look,  and.  to  hear,  and  to  see,  and  to  dance  with  a  mod- 
est girl,  than,  like  you  fellows,  to  be  capering  about  in  taverns 
with  painted  old  hags  like  that  old  Cerisette,  who  has  got  a  face 
like  a  pomme  cuitc,  and  who  danced  before  Lord  Malmcsbury  at 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  263 

the  Peace  of  Amiens.     She  did,  I  tell  you  ;  and  before  Napoleon. 

Mr.  Ciiesitam  (looks  up  from  his  writing).  There  was  no 
Napoleon  then.     It 's  of  no  consequence,  but — 

Lowndes.  Thank  you,  I  owe  you  one.  You  're  a  mosfc  val- 
uable man,  Chesham,  and  a  credit  to  your  father  and  mother. 

Mr.  Chesham-.     Well,  the  First  Consul  was  Bonaparte. 

Lowndes.  I  am  obliged  to  you.  I  say  I  am  obliged  to  you, 
Chesham,  and  if  you  would  like  any  refreshment  order  it  meis 
sumptibus,  old  boy — at  my  expense. 

Chesham.  These  fellows  will  never  be  serious,  (He.  resumes 
his  writing.) 

Hely  (herum,  but.  very  low).     Oh,  Charlotte,  Char — 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Hely  is  raving  about  that  girl — that  girl 
with  The  horrible  old  mother  in  yellow,  don't  you  remember? 
and  old  father — good  old  military  party,  in  a  shabby  old  coat — 
who  was  at  the  last  ball..  What  was  the  name?  O  Rourke, 
what  is  the  rhyme  for  Baynes  ? 

The  O'R.  P&ys,  and  be  hanged  to  you.  You  're  always 
makin'  fun  on  me,  you  little  cockney  ! 

Mr.  Motcomb.  Hely  was  just  as  bad  about  the  Danish  girl. 
You  know,  Walse,  you  composed  ever  so  many  verses  to  her,  and 
wrote  home  to  your  mother  to  ask  leave  to  marry  her ! 

The  O'R.  I  'd  think  him  big  enougjti  to  marry  without  any 
body's  leave — only  they  would  n't  have  him  because  he  's  so  ugly. 

Mr.  Hely.  Very  good,  O'Rourke.  Very  neat  and  good."  You 
were  diverting  the  company  with  an  anecdote.  Will  you  pro- 
ceed ? 

The  O'R.  Well,*thcn,  the  Cerisette  had  been  dancing  both 
on  and  off  the  stage  till  she  was  dead  tired,  I  suppose,  and  so  she 
fell  dead  asleep,  and  Figaroff,  taking  thewhatdyeeallcm  out  of 
the  Charlotte  Roose,  smayred  her  face  all — 

Voice  without.  Deet  Mosho  Rlngwood  Twysden,  sivo- 
play,  poor  Y  honorable  Mosho  Lownds ! 

Servant.     Monsieur  Twisden  ! 

Mr.  Twysden.     Mr.  Lowndes,  how  are  you? 

Mr.  Lowndes.     Very  well,  thank  you  ;  how  are  you  ? 

Mr.  Hely.     Lowndes  is  uncommonly  brilliant  to-day. 

Mr.  Twysden.  Not  the  worse  for  last  night?  Some  of  us 
were  a  little  elevated,  I  think ! 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Some  of  us  quite  the  reverse.  (Little  cad, 
what  does  he  want  ?  Elevated  !  he  could  n't  keep  his  little 
legs!) 

Mr.  Twysden.  Eh  !  Smoking,  I  see.  Thank  you.  I  very 
seldom  do — but  as  you  are  so  kind — puff.  Eh — uncommonly 
handsome,  person  that,  eh — Madame  Cerisette. 

The  O'R.     Thank  ye  for  telling  us. 

Mr.  Lowndes,  [fshe  meets  with  your  applause,  Mr.  Twys- 
den, I  should  think  Mademoiselle  Cerisette  is  all  right. 


284  THK    ADVENTURE8    OF    PHILIP 

The  O'R.     Maybe  they  'd  raise  her  salary  if  ye  told  her. 

Mr.  Twysdex.  Heh — I  see  you  're  chaffing  me.  We  have 
a  good  deal  of  that  kind  of  thing  in  Somerset — in  our — in — hem  1 
This->tobacco  is  a  little  strong.  I  am  a  little  shaky  this  morning. 
Who,  by  the  way,  is  that  Prince  BoutzoiF  who  played  lansque- 
net -with  us  ?  Is  he  one  of  the  Livonian  BoutzotFs,  or  oue  of  the 
Hessian  Boutzoffs  ?  I  remember,  at  my  poor  uncle's,  Lord  Ring- 
wood,  meeting  a  Prince  Bluchcr  de  BoutzofT,  something  like  this 
man,  by  the  way.     You  knew  my  poor  uncle  ? 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Dined  with  him  here  three  months  ago  at 
the  "  Trois  Freres." 

Mr.  Twysden.  Been  at  Whiphara,  I  dare  say  ?  I  was  bred 
up  there.  It  was  said  once  that  I  was  to  have  been  his  heir.  He 
was  very  fond  of  me.     He  was  my  godfather. 

The  O'R.  Then  he  gave  you  a  mug,  and  it  was  n't  a  beauty 
(gotta  voce). 

Mr.  Twysden.  You  said  somethin'  ?  I  was  speaking  of 
Whipham,  Mr.  Lowndes — one  of  the  finest  places  in  England,  I 
should  say,  except  Chatsworth,  you  know,  aud  thai,  sort  of  thing. 
My  grandfather  built  it — I  mean  my  great  grandfather,  for  I  'm 
of  the  Ringwood  family. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Then  was  Lord  Ringwood  your  grandfather, 
or  you  grand  godfather  ? 

Mr.  Twysden.  He*!  he!. My  mother  was  his  own  niece. 
My  grandfather  was  his  own  brother,  and  I  am — 

Mr.  Lowndes.     Thank  you.     I  see  now. 

Mr.  Halkin.  Das  istsehr  interessant.  Ich  versiehere  ihnen 
das  ist  sehr  interessant. 

Mr^,  Twysden.  Said  somethin'  ?  (This  cigar  is  really — I  '11 
throw  it  away,  please.)  I  was  sayin'  that  at  Whipham,  where 
I  was  bred  up,  we  would  be  forty  at  dinner,  and  as  many  more 
in  the  upper  servants'  hall. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  And  you  dined  in  the — you  had  pretty  good 
dinners  ? 

Mr.  Twysden.  A  French  chef.  Two  aids,  besides  turtle 
from  town.  Two  or  three  regular  cooks  on  the  establishment, 
besides  kitchen-maids,  roasters,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  you  un- 
derstand. How  many  have  you  here  now  ?  In  Lord  Estridge's 
kitchen  you  can't  do,  I  should  say,  at  least  without — let  me  see 
— why,  in  our  small  way — and  if  you  come  to  London  my  father 
will  be  dev'lish  glad  to  see  you — we — 

Mr.  Lowndes.  How  is  Mrs.  vWoolcombe  this  morning? 
That  was  a  fair  dinner  Woolcombe  gave  us  yesterday. 

Mr.  Twysden.  He  has  plenty  of  money,  plenty  of  money. 
I  hope,  Lowndes,  when  you  come  to  town — the  first  time  you 
come,  mind — to  give  you  a  hearty  welcome  and  some  of  my 
father's  old  por — 

Mr.  Heey.     Will  nobodv  kick  this  little  beast  out? 


ON   niS   WAY   THROUGH    T*HE    WORLD.  265 

Servant.     Monsieur  Chesham  peut-il  voir  M.  Firmin  ? 

Mif.  Chesham.     Certainly.     Come  in,  Firmin  ! 

Mr.  Twysden.  Mr.  Foannang— Mr.  Fir — Mr.  who  f  You 
don't  mean  to  gay  you  reeeive  that  tallow,  Mr.  Chesham  ? 

Mr.  Chesham.  What  tallow  ?  and  what  do  you  mean,  Mr. 
Whatdyecaltam  ? 

Mr.  Twysden.  Thai  blackg — oh — that  is,  I — I — beg  your — 
Mr.  Firmin  (entering,  and  going  up  to  Mr.  Chesham).  I  say, 
give  me  a  bit  of  news  of  to-day.  What  you  were  saying  about 
that — hum  and  hum  and  haw — may  n't  I  have  it '?  (He  is  talk- 
ing confidentially  with  Mr.  Chesham,  when  he  sees  Mr.  Twysden.) 
What !  you  have,  got  that  little  «ad  here  2 

Mr.  Lowndes.  You  know  Mr.  Twysden,  Mr.  Firmin  ?  He 
•was  just  speaking  about  you. 

Mr.  Firkin.     Was  he  ?     So  much  the  worse  for  me. 

Mr.  Twysdex.  Sir!  We^don't  speak.  You 've  no  right  to 
speak  tome  in  this  mauner  !  1)  m't  speak  to  me,  and  I  won't 
speak  to  you,  sir — there  !  Good-morning,  Mr.  Lowndes  1  Re- 
member your  promise  to  come  and  dine  with  us  when  you  come 
to  town.  And — one  word — (h^  holds  Mr.  Lowndes  by  the  button. 
By  the  way.  ha  has  very  curious  resemblances  to  Twysden  seninr) 
—we  shall  be  here  for  ten  days  certainly.  I  think  Lady  Es- 
tridire  has  something  next  week.  ■  I  have  left  our  cards,  and — 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Take  care.  He  will  be  there  (pointing  to 
Mr.  Firmin). 

"Sht.  Twysden.  What  ?  Thai  beggar  ?  You  don't  mean  to 
sav  Lord  Esfcridgew.llJ  receive  such  a  tallow  as — Good-by,  good- 
ie.-V     (Exit  Mr.  Twysden.) 

-Mb..  Firmin.  1  caught  that  little  fellow's  eye.  He's  my 
cousin,  you  know.  WTe  have  had  a  quarrel.  I  am  sure  he  was 
speaking  about  me. 

Mr.  Lowndf.s.  Well,  now  you  mention  it,  he  was  speaking 
about  you. 

Mr*  Firmin.  AVas  he  ?  Then  don't  believe  him,  Mr.  Lowndes. 
That  is  my  advi 

Mr.  Hel^  (at  his  desk  composing).  "  Maiden  of  the  blushing 
rhrrlc.  maid,  n 'of  the— oh,  Charlotte,  Char—"  he  bites  his  pen 
and  dashes  off-rapid  rhymes  on  government  paper. 

Mr.  Firmin.      Whai  does  he  say  V     He  said  Chariot .(.-. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  He  is  always  in  love  and  breaking  his  heart, 
and  he  puts  it  into  po-ins;  he  wraps  it  up  in  paper,  and  falls  in 
love  with  somebody  idse.  Sit  down  and  mho1;"  a  >-igar,  won't 
you  ?  • 

Firmin.     Can1  Must  make  up  my  letter.    We 

print  te-paorr 

Mr.  Li»\\  M)i.~.      Who  wrote  that  article  pitching  into  reel'.-' 

Mi:.  ]'ii;miv.     '  -good->>  Air. 

Finn 


266  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

Mr.  Chesham.  In  my  opinion  a  most  ill-advised  and  intem- 
perate, article.  That  journal,  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  indulges  in 
a  very  needless  acrimony,  I  think. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Chesham  does  not  like  to  call  a  spade  a  spade. 
He  calls  it  a  horticultural  utensil.  You  have  a  great  career  be- 
fore you,  Chesham.  You  have  a  wisdom  and  gravity  beyond 
your  years.  You  bore  us  slightly,  but  we  all  respect  you — we 
do  indeed.  What  was  the  text  at  church  last  Sunday  ?  Oh, 
by  the  way,  Hely,  you  little  miscreant,  you  were  at  church  ! 

Mi*.  Chesham.  You  need  not  blush,  Hely.  I  am  not  a  jok- 
ing man;  but  this  kind  of  jesting  does  not  strike  me  as  being 
particularly  amusing,  Lowndes. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  You  go  to  church  because  you  are  good,  be- 
cause your  aunt  was  a  bishop,  or  something.  But  Hely  goes  be- 
cause he  is  a  little  miscreant.  You  hypocritical  little  beggar, 
you  got  yourself  up  as  if  you  were  going  to  a  de'jeune,  and  you 
had  your  hair  curled,  and  you  were  seen  singing  out  of  the  same 
hymn-book  with  that  pretty  Miss  Baynes,  you  little  wheedling 
sinner  I  and  you  walked  home  with  the  family — my  sisters  saw 
you — to  a  boarding-house  where  they  live — by  Jove  !  you  did. 
And  J  '11  tell  your  mother  ! 

Mr.  Chesham.  1  wis!;  you  would  not  make  such  a  noise,  and 
let  me  do  my  work,  Lowndes.     You — 

Here  Asmodeus  whisks  us  out  of  the  room,  and  we  lose  rue 
rest  of  the  young  men's  conversation.  But  enough  has  been 
overheard,  1  think,  to  show  what  direction  young  Mr.  Holy's 
thoughts  had  taken.  Since  he  was  seventeen  jears  of  age  (at 
the  time  when  we  behold  him  lie  may  be  twenty-three)  this  ro- 
mantic youth  has  been  repeatedly  is  love:  with  his  elderly 
tutor's  daughter,  of  course;  with  a  young  haberdasher  at  the 
University  ;  with  his  sister'*  eoniidential  friend  ;  with  the  bloom- 
ing young  Danish  beauty  last  yfar  ;  ^nd  now,  J  very  much  fear, 
a  young  acquaintance  of  ours  has  attracted  the  attention  of  this 
imaginative  Don  Juan.  Whenever  Hely  is  in  love  he  fancies 
his  passion  will  last  Ibr  ever,  makes  a  confidant  of  the  first  per- 
son at  'hand,  weeps  plcnteously,  and  writes  reams  of  verses.  Do 
you  remember  how,  in  a  previous  chapter,  we  told'you  that  Mrs. 
Tuffin  was  determined  she  would  n<,(.  ask  Philip  to  her  soirees,  and 
declared  him  to  he  a  forward  and  disagreeable  young  rrfacft  ?  She 
was  glad  enough  to  receive  young  Walsingham  Hely,  with  his  Ian 
guid  au\  his  (hooping  bead,  his  fair  curls,  and  his  flower  in  hi? 
button-hole  ;  and  Hely,  being  then  in  hot  pursuit  of  one  of  the 
tail  Miss  Blaekiocks,  went  to  Mrs.  Tuffiifs,  was  welcomed  there 
with  all  the  honors;  and  there,  fluttering  away  from  Miss  Black- 
lock,  our  butterfly  lighted  on  Miss  Baynes.  Now  Miss  Baynes 
would  have  danced  with  amopstick,  6Le  was  so  fond  of  dancing  ; 
and  Hely,  who  had  practised  m  a  thousand  diamine;  es.  Ma- 
billes  (or  whatever  was  the  public  dance-room  then  in  v%gue), 


ON  HI8   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  267 

was  a  most  amiable,  agile,  and  excellent  partner.  .  And  she  told 
Philip  next  day  what,  a  nice  little  partner'  she  had  fouud — poor 
Philip,  who  was  not  asked  to  that  Paradise  of  a  party  !  And 
Philip  said  that  he  hikGtl  the  little  man  ;  that  he  believed  he  was 
rich  ;  that  be  wrote  protty  little  verses — in  a  word,  Philip,  in 
his  leonine  ways,  regarded  little  Heh  as  a  lion  regards  a  lapdog. 

Now  this  little  slyboots  had  a  thousand  artful  little  ways.  He 
had  a  very  keen  sensibility  and  a  fine  taste,  which  was  most 
readily  touched  by  innocence  and  beauty.  He  had  tears,  I 
won't  say  at  command  ;  for  they  were  under  no  command,  and 
gushed  from  his  fine  eyes  in  spite  of  himself.  Charlotte's  inno- 
cence and  freshness  smote  him  with  a  keen  pleasure.  Bon  Dieu  ! 
What  was  that  great  tall  Miss  Blaekloek,  who  had  tramped 
through  a  thousand  ball-rooms,  compared  to  this  artless,  happy 
creature  ?  He  danced  away  from  Miss  Blaekloek  and  after 
Charlotte  the  moment  he  saw  our  young  friend  ;  and  the  Black- 
locks,  who  knew  all  about  him,  and  his  money,  and  his  mother, 
and  his  expectations — who  had  his  verses  in  their  poor  album, 
by  whose  carriage  he  had  capered  day  after  day  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne — stood  scowling  and  deserted,  as  this  young  fellow 
danced  off  with  that  Miss  Baynes,  who  lived  in  a  boarding-house, 
and  came,  to  parties  in  a  cab  with  her  horrid  old  mother  !  The 
Blackloeks  were  a3  though  they  were  not  henceforth  for  Mr. 
Hely.  They  asked  him  to  dinner.  Bless  my  soul,  he  utterly 
forgot  all  about  it !  He  never  came  to  their  box  on  their  night 
at  the  opera.  Not  one  twinge  of  remorse  had  he.  Not  o©e 
pang  of  remembrance.  If  he  did  remember  them,  it  was  when 
they  bored  him,  like  those  tall  tragic  women  in  black  who  are 
alwavs  coming  in  their  great  long  trains  to  sing  sermons  to  Don 
Juan.  Ladies,  your  name  is  down  in  his  lordship's  catalogue  ; 
his  servant  has  it ;  and  you,  Miss  Anna,  are  numbered  one  thou- 
sand and  three. 

But  as  for  Miss  Charlotte,  that  is  a  different  affair.  What  in- 
nocence! What  a  fraicheur !  What  a  merry  good-humor! 
Don  Slyboots  is  touched,  he  is  tenderly  interested  :  her  artless 
voice  thrills  through  his  frame  ;  he  trembles  as  he  waltzes  with 
her ;  as  his  fine  eyes  look  at  her,  pshaw  !  what  is  that  film  com- 
ing over  them  ?  O  Slyboots,  Slyboots  !  And  as  she  has  nothing 
to  conceal,  she  hns  told  him  all  he  wants  to  know  before  long. 
This  is  her  first  winter  in  Paris?  her  first  season  of  coming  out. 
She  has  only  been  to  two  balls  before,  and  two  plays  and  an 
opera.  And  her  father  met  Mr.  Hely  at  Lord  Trim's.  That 
was  her  father  playing  at  whist.  And  they  lived  at  Madame 
Smolensk's  boarding-house  in  the  Champs  Elysees.  And  they  had 
been  to  Mr.  Dash's,  and  to  Mrs.  Blank's,  and  she  believed  they 
wore  going  to  Mrs.  Star's  on  Friday.  And  did  the^  go  to 
church  'i  Of  course  they  went  to  church,  to  the.  Rue  d'Auges- 
seau,  or  wherever  it  might  be.     And   Slyboots  went  to  church 


268  THE   ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

next  Sunday.  You  may  perhaps  guess  to  what  church.  And 
he  went  the  Sunday  after.  And  he  sang  his  own  songs,  accom- 
panying himself  on  the  guitar,  at  his  lodgings.  And  he  sang 
elsewhere.  And  he  had  a  very  pretty  little  voice,  Slyboots 
had.  I  believe  those  poems  under  the  common  title  of  "  Gretch- 
en,"  in  our  Walsingham's  charming  volume,  were  all  inspired  by 
Miss  Baynes.  He  began  to  write  about  her  and  himself  the  very 
first  night  after  seeing  her.  He  smoked  cigarettes  and  drank 
green  tea.  He  looked  so,  pale — so  pale  and  sad  that  he  quite 
pitied  himself  in  the  looking-glass  in  his  apartments  in  the  Rue 
Miromenil.  And  he  compared  himself  to  a  wrecked  mariner, 
and  to  a  grave,  and  to  a  man  entranced  and  brought  to  life. 
And  he  cried  quite  freely  and  satisfactorily  by  himself.  And 
he  went  to  see  his  mother  and  sister  next  day  at  the  Plotel  de  la 
Terrasse ;  and  cried  to  them,  and  said  he  was  in  love  this  time 
ibr  ever  and  ever,  ^nd  hi«  sister  called  him  a  goose.  And 
after  crying  he  ate  an  uncommonly  good  dinner.  And  ne  took 
every  one  into  his  confidence,  as  he  always  did  whenever  he 
was  in  love  :  always  telling,  always  making  verses,  and  always 
crying.  As  for  Miss  Blacklock,  he  buried  the  dead  body  of  that 
love  deep  in  the  ocean  of  his  soul.  The  waves  engulfed  Miss 
B.  The  ship  rolled  on.  The  storm  went  down.  And  the  stars 
rose,  and  the  dawn  was  in  his  soul,  etc.  Well,  well !  The 
mother  was  a  vulgar  woman,  and  I  am  glad  you  are  out  of  it. 
And  what  sort  of  people  are  General  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Baynes  ? 

"  Oh,  delightful  people  !  Most  distinguished  officer,  the  father  ; 
modest — does  n't  say  a  word.  The  mother,  a  most  lively,  brisk, 
agreeable  woman.  You  must  go  and  see  her,  ma'am.  I  desire 
you- '11  go  immediately." 

"  And  leave  cards"  jvith  P.  P.  C.  for  the  Miss  Blacklocks  !" 
says  Miss  Hely,  who  was  a  plain,  lively  person. .  And  both 
mother  and  sister  spoiled  this  young  Hely;  as  women  ought 
always  to  spoil  a  son,  a  brother,  a  father,  husband,  grandfather 
— any  male  relative,  in  a  word. 

To  see  this  spoiled  son  married  was  the  good-natured  mother's 
fond  prayer.  An  eldest  son  had  died  a  rake — a  victim  to  too 
much  money,  pleasure,  idleness.  The  widowed  mother  would 
give  anything  to  save  this  one  from  the  career  through  whi<;h  the 
elder  had  passed.  The  young  man  would  be  one  day  so  wealthy, 
that  she  knew  many  and  many  a  schemer  would  try  and  entrap 
him.  Perhaps  she  had  been  made  to  marry  his  father  because 
he  was  rich  ;  and  she  remembered  the  gloom  and  wretchedness 
of  her  own  union.  Oh  that  she  could  see  her  sou  out  of  tempta- 
tion, and  the  husband  of  an  honest  girl !  It  was  the  young  lady's 
first  season  V  So  much  the  more  likely  that  she  should  be  un- 
wordly:  "  The  general — don't  you  remember  a  nice  old  gentle- 
man— in  a — well,  in  a  wig — that  day  we  dined  at  Lord  Trim's, 
when  that  horrible  old  Lord  Kingwood  was  there  ?  That  was 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  269 

General  Baynes  ;  and  he  broke  out  so  enthusiastically  in  defence 
of  a  poor  young  man — Dr.  Firmin's  son — who  was  a  bad  man,  I 
believe  ;  but  I  shall  never  have  confidence  in  another  doctor 
again,  that  I  shan't.  And  we  '11  call  on  these  people,  Fanny. 
Yes,  in  a  brown  wig — the  general,  I  perfectly  well  remember 
him,  and  Lord  Trim  said  he  was  a  most  distinguished  officer. 
And  I  have  no  doubt  his  wife  will  be  a  most  agreeable  person. 
Those  generals'  wives  who  have  travelled  over  the  world  must 
have  acquired  a  quantity  of  delightful  information.  At  a  board- 
ing-house, are  they  V  1  dare  say  very  pleasant  and  amusing. 
And  we  '11  drive  there  and  call  on  them  immediately." 

On  that  day,  as  Macgrigor  and  Moira  Baynes  were  disporting 
in  the  little  front  garden  of  Madame  Smolensk's,  I  think  Moira 
was  just  about  to  lick  Macgrigor,  when  his  fratricidal  hand  was 
stopped  by  the  sight  of  a  large  yellow  carriage — a  large  London 
dowager  family  carriage — from  which  descended  a  large  London 
family  footman,  with  side  locks  begrimed  with  powder,  with 
calves  such  as  only  belong  to  large  London  family  footmen,  and 
with  cards  in  his  hand.  "  Ceci  Madame  Smolensk  V"  says  the 
large  menial.  "  Oui,"  says  the  boy,  nodding  his  head  ;  on  which 
the  footman  was  puzzled,  for  he  thought,  from  hie  readiness  in  the 
use  of  the  French  language,  that  the  boy  was  a  Frenchman. 

"  lei  demure  General  Bang  '?"  continued  the  man. 

"  Hand  us  over  the  cards,vJohn.  Not  at  home,''  said  the  young 
gentleman. 

"  Who  ain't  at  'ome  ?"  inquired  the  menial. 

u  General  Baynes,  my  father,  ain't  at  home.  He  %hall  have 
the  pasteboard  when  he  comes  in.  Mrs.  Hely.  Oh,  Mac,  it 's^ 
the  same  name  as  that  young  swell  who  called  the  other  day  V 
Ain't  at  home,  John.  •  Gone  out  to  pay  some  visits.  Had  a  lly 
on  purpose.  Gone  out  with  my  sister.  'Pon  my  word  they  have, 
John."  And  from  this  accurate  report  of  the  boy's  behavior,  I 
fear  that  the  young  Baynes  must  have  been  brought  up  at  a  clas- 
sical and  commercial  academy,  where  economy  was  more  studied 
than  politeness. 

Philip  comes  trudging  up  to  dinner,  and  as  this  is  not  his  post 
day,  arrives  early — hoping,  perhaps,  for  a  walk  with  Miss  Char- 
lotte, or  a  coze  in  Madame  Smolensk's  little  private  room.  He 
finds  the  two  boys  in  the  fore-court  ;  and  tliey  have  Mrs.  Hely's 
cards  in  their  hand  ;  and  they  narrate  to  him  the  advent  and  de- 
parture of  the  lady  in  the  swell  carriage,,  the  mother  of  the  young 
swell  with  the  flower  in  his  button-hole,  who  came  the  other  day 
on  such  a  jolly  horse.  Yes.  And  he  was  at  church  last  Sunday, 
Philip,  and  he  gave  Charlotte  a  hymn-book.  And  he  isng  :  he 
sang  like  the  piper  who  played  before  Moses,  pa  said.  And  ma 
said  it  was  wicked,  but  it  wasn't:  only  pa's  fun,  you  know. 
And  ma  said  you  uever  came  to  church.     Why  den't  you  V 

Philip  had  no  taint  of  jealousy  in  his  magnanimous  eomposi- 


270  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

tion,  and  would  as  soon  have  accused  Charlotte  of  flirting  with 
other  men  as  of  stealing  madame's  silver  spoons.  "  So  you  have 
had  some  fine  visitors,"  he  says,  as  the  fly  drives  up.  "  I  remem- 
ber that  rich  Mrs.  Hely,  a  patient  of  my  father's.  My  poor 
mother  used  to  drive  to  her  house." 

"  Oh,  we  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Mr.  Hely,  Philip !"  cries 
Miss  Chariotie,  not  heeding  the  scowls  of  her  mother,  who  is 
nodding  and  beckouing  angrily  to  the  girl. 

"  You  never  once  mentioned  him.  He  is  one  of  the  greatest 
dandies  about  Paris  :  quite  a  lion,"  remarks  Philip. 

"Is  he?  What  a  funny  little  lion  !  I  never  thought  about  him," 
says  Miss  Charlotte,  quite  simply.  Oh,  ingratitude!  ingratitude! 
And  we  have  told  how  Mr.  Walsingham  was  crying  his  eyes  out 
for  her. 

"She  never  thought  about  him?"  cries  Mrs.  Baynes,  quite 
eagerly. 

"  The  piper,  is  it,  }rou  're  talking  about  ?*'  asks  papa.  "  I 
called  him  Piper,  you  sec,  because  he  piped  so  sweetly  at  ch — 
Well,  my  love  V" 

Mrs.  Baynes  was  nudging  her  general  at  this  moment.  She 
did  no*:  wish  that  the  piper  should  form  the  subject  of*  conversa- 
tion, I  suppose. 

**  The  piper's  mother  is  very  rich,  and  the  piper  will  inherit 
after  her.  She  has  a  fine  house  in  London.  She  gives  very  fine 
parties.  She  drives  in  a  great  carriage,  and  she  has  come  to  call 
upon  you,  and  ask  you  to  her  balls,  I  suppose." 

Mrs.  Baynes  was  delighted  at  this  call.  And  when  she  said, 
«f'  I  'm  sure  I  don't  value  fine  people,  or  their  fine  parties,  or 
their  fine  carriages,  but  I  wish  that  my  dear  child  should  see  the 
world,"  I  don't  believe  a  word  which  Mrs.  Baynes  said.  She 
was  much  more  pleased  than  Charlotte  at  the  idea  of  visiting  this 
fine  lady;  or  else  why  should  she  have  coaxed,  and  whet  died, 
and  been  so  particularly  gracious  to  the  general  all  the  evening  ? 
She  wanted  a  new  gowm  The  truth  is,  her  yellow  icas  very 
shabby  ;  whereas  Charlotte,  in  plain  white  muslin  looked  pretty 
enough  to  be  able  to  dispense  with  the  aid  of  any  French  milli- 
ner. I  fancy  a  consultation  with  madame  and  Mrs.  Bunch.  I 
fancy  a  fly  ordered,  and  a  visit  to  the  milliner's  the  next  day. 
And  when  the  pattern  of  the  gown  is  settled  with  the  milliner,  I 
fancy  the  terror  on  Mrs.  Baynes'  wizened  face  when  r*he  ascer- 
tains the  amount  of  the  bill.  To  do  her  justice,  the  general's 
wife  had  spent  little  upon  her  own  homely  person.  She  chose 
her  gowns  agjy,  but  cheap.  There  were  so  many  h  icks  to  clothe 
in  that  family  that  the  thrifty  mother  did  not  heed  the  decoration  . 
of  her  own. 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  271 

-CHAPTER  XXIV. 

NKC  DULCES  AAIORKS  S1KRNK,  PUER,  NEQUK  TU  CHOREAS. 

"  My  dear/'  Mrs.  Bayr.es  said  to  her  daughter,  M  you  are  going 
out  a  great  deal  in  the  world  now.  You  will  go  to  a  great  num- 
ber of  places  where  poor  Philip  ean  not  hope  to  be  admitted." 

uNot  admit  Philip,  mamma  !  Then  I  'm  sure  I  don't  want  to 
go,"  eries  the  girl. 

'■  Time  enough  to  leave  oil'  going  to  parties  when  you  can't 
afford  it,  and  marry  him.  When  I  was  a  lieutenant's  wife  I 
did  n't  go  to  any  parties  out  of  the  regiment,  my  dear  !" 

"  Oli,"  (hen,  I  am'sfcre  I  shall  never  want  to  go  out  !"  Charlotte 
declares. 

"  You  fancy  he  will  always  stop  at  home,  I  dare  say.  Men  are 
not  all  so  domestic  as  your  papa.  Ver  few  love  to  stop  at  home 
like.  him.  Indeed  I  may  say  that  T  have  made  his  home  com- 
fortable..   P>ut  one  tiling  is  clear,  mv  child.     Philip  can't  always 

•  •  ••         •      ■  i*  St 

expect  to  go  where  we.  go.  He  is  not  in  the  position  in  lite. 
Recollect,  your  father  is  a  general  officer,  C.B.,  and  may  be  K. 
IT.B.  soon,  and  your  mother  is  a  general  officer's  lady.  We  may 
go  anywhere.  I  might  have  gone  to^he  drawing-room  at  home 
if  [  chose.  Lady  Biggs  would  have  been  delighted  to  present 
me.  Yrour  aunt  has  been  to  the  drawing-room,  and  she  is  only 
Mrs.  Major  Mae  Whirter  ;  and  most  absurd  it  was  of  Mac  to  h  t 
her  go.  But  she  rules  him  in  everything,  and  they  have  no 
children.  1  have,  goodness  knows  !  I  sacrifice  myst  If  for  my 
children.  You  little  know  what  I  deny  myself  for  my  children. 
1  said  to  Lady  Biggs,  '  No,  Lady  Biggs  ;  my  husband  may  go. 
He  should  go.  He  has  his  uniform,  and  it  will  cost  him  nolhing 
except  a  fly  and  a  bouquet  for  the  man  who  drives  ;  but  /  will 
not  spend  money  on  myself  for  the  hire  of  diamonds  and  feathers, 
and  though  I  yield  in  ioyalty  to  no  person,  I  dare,  say  my  sover- 
eign won't  miss  me.'  And  I  don't  think  her  Majesty  did.  She 
has  other  tilings  to  think  of  besides  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  1  sup- 
pose. She  is  a  mother,  and  can  appreciate  a  mother's  sacrifices 
for  her  children." 

If  I  have  not  hitherto  given  you  detailed  reports  of*Mrs  Gen- 
eral Baynes'  conversation,  F  don't  think,  my  esteemed  reader, 
you  will  be  very  angry. 

-1  NWj  child?'  tin-  geoeraPs  lady  continued,  '-let  me  warn  }  ou 
not  to  talk  much  to  Philip  about  tbcfe«  places  which  you  gb  to 
without  him.  and  to  which  I  is  position  in  life  does  not  allow  of 
his  coming.  Hide  anything  Mom  him?  Oh,  dear,  no!  Only 
for  his  own  good,  yon  understand.  I  don't  tell  everything  to 
your  papa.  1  should  only  worrit  him  and  vex  him.  When  any- 
thing will  please  him  and  make  him  happy,  then  1  tell  him.     And 


272  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

about  Philip.  Philip,  I  must  say  it,  my  dear — I  must  as  a  mother 
say  it — has  his  faults.  He  is  an  envious-  man-  Don't  look  shocked. 
He  thinks  very  well  of  himself;  and  having  'been  a  great  deal 
spoiled,  and  made  too  much  of  in  his  unhappy  father's  time,  he 
is  so  proud  and  haughty  that  he  forgets  his  position,  and  thinks 
he  ought  to  live  with  the  highest  society.  Had  Lord  Ringwood 
left  him  a  fortune,  as  Philip  led  us  to  expect  when  we  gave  our 
consent  to  this  most  unlucky  match — for  that  my  dear  child 
should  marry  a  beggar  is  most  unlucky  and  most  deplorable ;  I 
can't  help  saying  so,  'Charlotte — if  I  were  on  my  death-bed  I 
could  n't  help  saying  so;  and  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  we  had 
never  seen  or  heard  of  him.  There!  Don't  go  off  in  one  of 
your  tantrums !  What  was  I  saying,  pray  ?  I  say  that  Philip 
is  in  no  position,  or  rather  in  a  very,  very  humble  one,  which — 
a  mere  newspaper  writer  and  a  subaltern  too — every  body  ac- 
knowledges to  be.  And  if  he  hears  us  talking  about  our  parties 
to  which  we  have  a  right  to  go — to  which  you  have  a  right  to  go 
with  your  mother,  a  general  officer's  lady — why,  he  '11  be  of- 
fended. He  won't  like  to  hear  about  them  and  think  he  can't  be 
invited ;  and  you  had  better  not  talk  about  them  at  all,  or  about 
the  people  you  meet,  you  dance  with.  At  Mrs.  Hely's  you  may 
dance  with  Lord  Headbury,  the  embassador's  son.  And  if  you 
tell  Philip  he  will  be  offended.  Pie  will  say  that  you  boast 
about  it.  When  I  was  only  a  lieutenant's  wife  at  Barrack- 
pore,  Mrs.  Captain  Capers  used  to  go  to  Calcutta  to  the  Govern- 
ment House  balls.  I  did  n't  go.  But  I  was  offended,  and  I 
used  to  say  that  Flora  Capers  gave  herself  airs,  and  was  always 
boasting  ^of  her  intimacy  with  the  Marchioness  of  Hastings. 
We  don't  like  our  equals  to  be  better  off  than  ourselves. 
Mark  my  words.  And  if  you  talk  to  Philip  about  the  people 
whom  you  meet  in  society,  and  whom  he  can't,  from  his 
unfortunate  station,  expect  to  know,  you  will  offend  him.  That 
was  why  I  nudged  you  to-day  when  you  were  goinj;  on  about 
Mr.  Ilely.  Anything  so  absurd !  I  saw  Philjp  getting  angry 
at  once,  and  biting  his  mustaches,  as  he  always  does  when  he 
is  angry — and  swears  quite  out  loud — so  vulgar  !  There  !  you 
are  going  to  be  angry  again,  my  love;  I  never  saw  anything 
like  you  !  Is  this  my  Charly  who  never  was  angry  ?  I  know  the 
world,  dear,  and  you  don't.  Look  at  me,  how  I  manage  your 
papa,  and  I  tell  you  don't  talk  to  Philip  about  things  which 
offend  him!  Now,  dearest,  kiss  your  poor  old  mother  who  loves 
yoiu  Go  up  stairs  and  bathe  your  eyes,  and  come  down  happy 
to  dinner."  And  at  dinner  Mrs.  General  Baynes  was  uncom- 
monly  gracious  to  Philip :  and  when  gracious  she  was  especially 
odious  to  Phiiip,  whose  magnanimous  nature  accommodated,  itself 
ill  to  the  wheedling  artifices  of  an  ill-bred  old  woman. 

Following  this  wretched  mother's  advice,  my  poor  Charlotte 
spoke  scarcely  at  all  to  Philip  of  the. parties  to  which  she  went, 


ON    HJS    WAY    THPOUOH    THE    WORLD.  273 

and  the  amusements  which  she  enjoyed  without  him.  I  dare 
say  Mrs.  Biynes  was  quite  happy  in  thinking  that  she  was 
"guiding"  her  child  rightly.  As  if  a  coarse  woman,  because 
she  is  mean,  and  greedy,  and  hypocritical,  and  fifty  years  old, 
has  a  right  to  lead  a  guileless  nature  into  wrong  !  Ah  !  if  some 
of  us. old  folks  were  to  go  to  school  to  our  children,  I  am  sure, 
madam,  it  would  do  us  a  great  deal  of  good.  There  is  a  fund  of 
good  sense  and  honorable  feeling  about  my  great-grandson  Tom- 
my, which  is  more  valuable  than  all  his  grandpapa's  experience 
and  knowledge  of  the  world.  Knowledge  of  the  world,  forsooth! 
Compromise,  selfishness  modified,  and  double-dealing !  Tom  dis- 
dains a  lie  :  when  he  wants  a'peach,  he  roars  for  it.  If  his  mother 
wishes  to  go  to  a  party,  she  coaxes,  and  wheedles,  and  manages, 
and  smirks,  and  courtesies  for  months,  in  order  to  get  her  end ; 
takes-  twenty  rebuffs,  and  comes  up  to  the  scratch  again  smiling ; 
and  this  woman  is  for  ever  lecturing  her  daughters,  and  preach- 
ing to  her  sons  upon  virtue,  honesty,  and  moral  behavior ! 

Mrs.  Hely's  little  party  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Terrasse  was  very 
pleasant  and  bright;  and  Miss  Charlotte  enjoyed  it,  although 
her  swain  was  not  present.  But  Philip  was  pleased  that  his  little 
Charlotte  should  be  happy.  She  beheld  with  wonderment  Pa- 
risian duchesses,  American  millionaires,  dandies  from  the  embas- 
sies, deputies  and  peers  of  France  with  large  stars  and  wigs  like 
papa.  She  gayly  described  her  party  to  Philip;  described,  that 
is  to  say,  everything  but  her  own  success,  which  was  undoubted. 
There  were  many  beauties  at  Mrs.  Hely's,  but  nobody  fresher  or 
prettier.  The  Miss  Blacklocks  retired  very  early  and  in  the 
worst  possible  temper.  Prince  Slyboots  did  not  in  the  least  heed 
their  going  away.  His  thoughts  were  all  fixed  upon  little  Char- 
lotte. Charlotte's  mamma  saw  the  impression  which  the  girl 
made,  and  was  filled  with  a  hungry  joy.  Good-natured  Mrs. 
Hely  complimented  htfr  on  her  daughter.  "  Thank  God,  she  is 
as  good  as  she  is  pretty,"  said  the  mother,  I  am  sure  speaking 
seriously  this  time  regarding  her  daughter.  Prince  Slyboots 
danced  with  scarce  anybody  else.  He  raised  a  perfect  whirlwind 
of  compliments  round  about  her.  She  was  quite  a  simple  person, 
and  did  not  understand  one-tenth  part  of  what  he  said  to  her. 
He  strewed  her  path  with  roses  of  poesy:  he  scattered  garlands 
of  sentiment  before  her  all  the  way  from  the  antechamber  down 
stairs,  and  so  to  the  fly  which  was  in  waiting  to  take  her  and  her 
parents  home  to  the  boarding-house.  "  By  George,  Charlotte,  I 
think  you  have  smitten  that  fellow  !"  cried  the  general,  who  was 
infinitely  amused  by  young  Hely — his  raptures,  his  affectations, 
his  long  hair,  and  what  Barnes  called  his  low  dress.  A  slight 
white  tape  and  a  ruby  button  confined  Hely's  neck.  His  hair 
waved  over  his  shoulders.  Baynes  had  never  seen  such  a  speci- 
men. At  the  mess  of  the  stout  120th  the  lads  talked  of  their 
dogs,  horses,  and  sport.  A  young  civilian,  smattering  in  poetry, 
24 


274  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    THILIP 

chattering  in  a  dozen  languages,  scented,  smiling,  perfectly  at 
ease  with  himself  and  the  world,  was  a  novelty  to  the  old  officer. 

And  now  the  Queen's  birthday  arrived — and  that  it  may  ar- 
rive for  many  scores  of  years  yet  to  come  is,  I  am  sure,  the 
prayer  of  all  the  contributors  and  all  the  readers  of  the  CornJiill 
— and  with  it  is  his  Excellency  Lord  Estridge's  grand  annual 
fete  in  honor  of  his  sovereign.  A  card  for  their  ball  was  left  at 
Madame  Smolensk's,  for  "General,  Mrs.,  and  Miss  Baynes;  and 
no  doubt  Monsieur  Slyboots  Walsingham  Hely  was  the  artful 
agent  by  whom  the  invitation  was  forwarded.  Once  more  the 
general's  veteran  uniform  came  out  from  the  tin-box  with  its 
dingy  epaulets  and  little  cross  and  ribbon.  His  wife  urged  on 
him  strongly  the  necessity  of  having  a  new  wig,  wigs  being  very 
cheap  and  good  at  Paris — but  Baynes  said  a  new  wig  would 
make  his  old  coat  look  very  shabby ;  and  a  new  uniform  would 
cost  more  money  than  he  would  like  to  afford.  So  shabby  he 
went  de  cape  a  pied,  with  a  moulting  feather,  a  threadbare  suit, 
a  tarnished  wig,  and  a  worn-out  lace,  sibi  constans.  Boots, 
trowsers,  sash,  coat,  were  all  old  and  worse  for  wear,  and 
"  faith,"  says  he,  "  my  face  follows  suit."  A  brave,  silent  man 
was  Baynes,  with  a  twinkle  of  humor  in  his  lean,  wrinkled  face. 

And  if  General  Baynes  was  shabbily  attired  at  the  Embassy 
ball,  I  think  I  know  a  friend  of  mine  who  was  shabby  too.  In 
the  days  of  his  prosperity  Mr.  Philip  was  parens  cultor  el  infre- 
quent of  balls,  routs,  and  ladies'  company.  Perhaps  because  his 
father  was  angered  at  Philip's  neglect  of  his  social  advantages 
and  indifference  as  to  success  in  the  world,  Philip  was  the  more 
neglectful  and  indifferenf.  The  elder's  comedy-smiles,  and 
solemn,  hypocritical  politeness,  caused  scorn  and  revolt  on  the 
part  of  the  younger  man.  Philip  despised  the  humbug,  and  the 
world  to  which  such  humbug  could  be  welcome.  .  He  kept  aloof 
from  tea-parties  then ;  his  evening-dress  clothes  served  him  for  a 
long  time.  I  can  not  say  how  old  his  dress-coat  was  at  the  time 
of  which  we  are  writing.  But  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  re- 
specting that  garment,  and  considering  it  new  and  handsome  for 
many  years  past.  Meanwhile  the  coat  had  shrunk,  or  its  wearer 
had  grown  stouter  ;  and  his  grand  embroidered,  embossed,  illu- 
minated, carved  and  gilt  velvet  dress  waistcoat,  too,  had  nar- 
rowed, had  become  absurdly  tight  and  short,  and  I  dare  say  was 
the  laughing-stock  of  many  of  Philip's  acquaintances,  while  he 
himself,  poor  simple  fellow  !  was  fancying  that  it  was  a  most 
splendid  article  of  apparel.  You  know  in  the  Palais  Royal  they 
hang  out  the  most  splendid  reach-me-down  dressing-gowns, 
waistcoats,  and  so  forth.  "  No,"  thought  Philip,  coming  out  of 
his  cheap  dining-house,  and  swaggering  along  the  arcades,  and 
looking  at  the  tailors'  shops,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  My 
brown  velvet  dress  waistcoat  with  the  gold  sprigs,  which  I  had 
made  at  college,  is  a  much  more  tasty  thing  than  these  gaudy 


ON   JUS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  275 

ready-made  articles.  And  my  coat  is  old  certainly,  but  the 
brass  buttons  are  still  very  bright  and  handsome,  and,  in  fact,  is 
a  most  becoming  and  gentlemanlike  tiling."  And  under  this 
delusion  the  honest,  fellow  dressed  himself  in  his  old  clothes, 
lighted  a  pair  of  candles,  and  looked  at  himself  with  satisfaction 
in  the  looking-glass,  drew  on  a  pair  of  cheap  gloves  which  he 
had  bought,  walked  by  the  quays,  and  over  the  Deputies' 
Bridge,  across  the  Place  Louis  XV,  and  strutted  up  the  Fau<- 
bourg  St.  Honore  to  the  Hotel  of  the  British  Embassy.  A  half- 
mile  queue  of  carriages  was  formed  along  the  street,  and  of 
course  the  entrance  to  the  hotel  was  magnificently  illuminated. 

A  plague  on  those  cheap  gloves  !  Why  had  not  Philip  paid 
three  francs  for  a  pair  of  gloves,  instead  of  twenty-nine  sous  ? 
Mrs.  Baynes  had  found  a  capital  cheap  glove  shop,  whither  poor 
Phil  had  gone  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart;  and  now,  as  he 
went  in  under  the  grand  illuminated  porte-cochere,  Philip  saw 
that  the  gloves  had  given  way  at  the  thumbs,  and  that  his  hands 
appeared  through-  the  rents,  as  red  as  raw  beefsteaks.  It  is 
wonderful  how  red  hands  will '  look  through  holes  in  white 
gloves.  "And  there's  that  hole  in  my  boot,  too,"  thought 
Phil  ;  but  he  had  put  a  little  ink  over  the  seam,  and  so  the  rent 
was  imperceptible.  The  coat  and  waistcoat  were  tight,  and  of 
a  past  age.  Never  mind.  The  chest  was  broad,  the  arms  were 
muscular  and  long,  and  Phil's  face,  in  the  midst  of  a  halo  of  fair 
hair  and  flaming  whiskers,  looked  brave,  honest,  arid  handsome. 
For  a  while  his  eyes  v.-nndered  fiercely  and  restlessly  all  about 
the  room  from  group  to  group  ;  but  now — ah  !  now — they  were 
settled.  They  had  met  another  pair  of  eyes,  which  lighted  up 
with  glad  welcome  when  they  beheld  him.  Two  youno-  cheeks 
mantled  with  a  sweet  blush".  These  were  Charlotte's  cheeks ; 
and  hard  by  them  were  mamma's,  of  a  very  different  color.  But 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  had  a  knowing  turban  on,  and  a  se%  of 
garnets  round  her  oid  neck,  like  gooseberries  set  in  gold. 

They  admired  the  rooms :  they  heard  the  names  of  the  great 
folks  who  arrived,  and  beheld  many  famous  personages.  They 
made  their  courtesies  to  the  embassadress.  Confusion  !  With  a 
great  rip,  the  thumb  of  one  of  those  cheap  gloves  of  Philip's 
parts  company  from  the  rest  of  the  glove,  and  he  is  obliged  to 
wear  it  crumpled  up  in  his  hand  :  a  dreadful  mishap — forjie  is 
going  to  dance,  with  Charlotte,  and  he  will  have  to  give  hi s*b and 
to  the  vis-a-vis.  * 

Who  comes  up  smiling,  with  a  low  neck,  with  waving  curls 
and  whiskers,  pretty  little  hands  exquisitely  gloved,  ahid  tiny 
feet  V  'T  is  Walsingham  Hely,  lightest  in  the  dance.  Most 
affably  does  Mrs.  General  Baynes  greet  the  young  fellow.  Very 
brightly  and  happily  do  Charlotte's  eyes  glance  toward  her  fa- 
vorite partner.  Jt  is  certain  that  poor  Phil  can't  hope  at  all  to 
dance  like  Hely.      "  And  see  what  nice  neat  feet  and  hands  he 


276  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

has  got,"  says  Mrs.  Baynes.     "  Comme  il  est  Men  ganie !     A 
gentleman  ought  to  be  always  well  gloved." 

"  Why  did  you  send  me  to  the  twenty-nine- sous  shop  ?"  says 
Poor  Phil,  looking  at  his  tattered  hand-shoes,  and  red  obstrusive 
thumb. 

"  Oh  you !" — (here  Mrs.  Baynes  shrubs  her  yellow  old  shoul- 
ders). u  Your  hands  would  burst  through  any  gloves!  How 
do  you  do,. Mr.  Hely  !  Is  your  mamma  here  ?  Of  course  she  is ! 
What  a  delightful  party  she  gave  us !  The  dear  embassadress 
looks  quite  unwell — most  pleasing  manners,  I  am  sure  ;  '  and 
Lord  Estridge,  what  a  perfect  gefltleman  !" 

The  Bayneses  were  just  come.  For  what  dance  was  Miss 
Baynes  disengaged  ?  "  As  many  as  ever  you  like  !"  cries  Char- 
lotte, who,  in  fact,  called  Hely  her  little  dancing-master,  and 
never  thought  of  him  except  as  a  partner.  "  Oh,  too  much  hap- 
piness 1  Oh  that  this  could  last  for  ever  !"  sighed  Hely,  after  .a 
waltz,  polka,  mazurka,  I  know  not  what,  and  fixing  on  Char- 
lotte the  full  blaze  of  his  beauteous  blue  eyes.  '•  For  ever  ?" 
cries  Gharlotte,  laughing.  "  I  'm  very  fond  of  dancing,  indeed. 
And  you  dance  beautifully.  But  I  don't  know  that  I  should  like 
to  dance  for  ever."  Ere  the  words  are  over  he  is  whirling  her 
round  the  room  again.  His  little  feet  fly  with  surprising  agility. 
His  hair  floats  behind  him.  He  scatters  odors  as  he  spins.  The 
handkerchief  with  which  he  fans  his  pale  brow  is  like  a  cloudy 
film  of  muslin  ;  and  poor  old  Philip  sees  with  terror  that  his 
pocket-handkerchief  has  got  three  great  holes  in  it.  His  nose 
and  one  eye  appeared  through  one  of  the  holes  while  Phil  was 
wiping  his  forehead.  It  was  very  hot.  He  was  very  hot.  He 
was  hotter,  though  standing  still,  than  young  Hely,  who  was 
dancing.  "  He  !  he  !  I  compliment  you  on  your  gloves  and  your 
handkerchief,  I  'm  sure,"  sniggers  Mrs.  Baynes,  with  a  toss  of 
heite*urban.  Has  it  not  been  said  that  a  bull  is  a  strong,  cour- 
ageous, and  noble  animal,  but  a  bull  in  a  china-shop  is  not  in  his 
place  V  "  There  you  go.  Thank  you  !  I  wish  you  'd  go  some- 
where else,"  cries  Mrs.  Baynes,  in  a  fury.  Poor  Philip's  foot 
has  just  gone  through  Rer  flounce.  How  red  he  is  !  how  much 
hotter  than  ever !  There  go  Hely  and  Charlotte,  whirling  round 
like  two  opera-dancers  1  Philip  grinds  his  teeth,  he  buttons 
his  coat  across  his  chest.  How  very  tight  it  feels !  How  savage- 
ly his  eyes  glare  !  Do  young  men  still  look  savage  and  solemn 
at  balls?  An  ingenuous  young  Englishman  ought  to  do  that 
duty  of  dancing,  of  course.  Society  calls  upon  him.  But  I 
doubt  whether  he  ought  to  look  cheerful  during  the  performance, 
or  flippantly  engage  in  so  grave  a  matter.. 

As  Charlotte's  sweet  round  face  beamed  smiles  upon  Philip 
over  Hely's  shoulders,  it  looked  so  happy  that  he  never  thought 
of  grudging  her  her  pleasure  :  and  happy  he  might  have  re- 
mained in  this  contemplation,  regarding  not  the  circle  of  dancers 


ON   HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  277 

who  were  galloping  and  whirling  on  at  their  usual  swift  rate,  but 
her,  who  was  the  centie  of  all  joy  and  pleasure  for  him,  when 
suddenly  a  shrill  voice  was  heard  behind  him,  crying, 
"  Get  out  of  the  way,  hang  you  !"  and  suddenly  there  bounced 
against  him  Rlngwood  Twysdcn,  pulling  Miss  Flora  Trotter  round 
the  room,  one  of  the  most  powerful  and  intrepid  dancers  of  that 
season  at  Paris.  They  hurt  Jed  past  Philip  ;  they  shot  him  for- 
ward against  a  pillar.  He  heard  a  screech,  an  oath,  and  anoth- 
er loud  laugh  from  Twysden,  and  beheld  the  scowls  of  Miss 
Trotter  as  that  rapid  creature  bumped  at  length  into  a  place  of 
safety. 

I  told  you  about  Philip's  coat.  It  was  very  tight.  The  day- 
light had  long  been  struggling  to  make  an  entry  at  the  seams. 
As  he  staggered  up  against  the  wall,  crack  !  went  a  great  hole 
at  his  back  ;  and  crack  !  one  of  his  gold  buttons  came  off,  leav- 
ing a  rent  in  his  chest.  It  was  in  those  da)  s  when  gold  buttons 
still  lingered  on  the  breasts  of  some  brave  men,  and  we  have 
said  simple  Philip  still  thought  his  coat  a  fine  ouue. 

There  was  not  only  a  rent  of  the  seam,  there  was  not  only  a 
burst  button,  but  there  was  also  a  rip  in  Philip's  rich  cut-velvet 
waistcoat,  with  the  gold  sprigs,  which  he  thought  so  handsome 
— a  great,  heart-rending  scar.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Retreat 
was  necessary.  He  told  Miss  Charlotte  of  the  hurt  he  had  re- 
ceived, whose  face  wore  a  very  comical  look  of  pity  at  his  mis- 
adventure— he  covered  part  of  his  wound  with  his  gibbous  hat — 
and  he  thought  he  would  try  and  make  his  way  out  by  the  gar- 
den of  the  hotel,  which,  of  course,  was  illuminated,  and  bright, 
and  crowded,  but  not  so  very  bright  and  crowded  as  the  saloons, 
galleries,  supper-rooms,  and  halls  of  gilded  light  in  which  the 
company  for  the  most  part  assembled. 

So  our  poor  wounded  friend  wandered  into  the  garden,  over 
which  the  moon  was  shining  with  the  most  blank  indifference  at 
the  fiddling,  feasting,  and  parti-colored  lamps.  He  .says  that  his 
mind  was  soothed  by  the  aspect  of  yonder  placid  moon  and 
twinkling  stars,  and  that  he  had  altogether  forgotten  his  trumpe- 
ry little  accident  and  torn  coat  and  waistcoat ;  but  I  doubt 
about  the  entire  truth  of  this  statement,  for  there  have  been 
scftne  occasions  when  he,  Mr.  Philip,  has  mentioned  the  subject, 
and  owned  that  he  was  mortified  and  in  a  rage. 

Well,  he  went  into  the  garden,  and  was  calming  himself  by 
contemplating  the  stars,  when,  just  by  that  fountain  where  there 
is  Pradier's  little  statue  of — Moses  in  the  Bulrushes,  let  us  say- 
round  which  there  was  a  beautiful  row  of  illuminated  lamps, 
lighting  up  a  great  coronal  of  flowers,"  which  my  dear  readers 
arc.  at  liberty  to  select  and  arrange  according  to  their  own  ex- 
quisite taste — near  this  little  fountain  he  found  three  gentlemen 
talking  together. 

The  high  voice  of  one  Philip  could  hear,  and  knew  from  old 


278  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

days.  Ringwood  Twysden,  Esquire,  always  liked  to  talk  and  to 
excite  himself  with  other  persons'  liquoic.  He  had  been  drink- 
ing the  Sovereign's  health  with  great  assiduity,  I  suppose,  and  was 
exceedingly  loud  and  happy.  With  Ringwood  was  Mr.  Wool- 
combe,  whose  countenance  the  lamps  lit  up  in  a  fine,  lurid  man- 
ner, and  whose  eyeballs  gleamed  in  the  twilight ;  and  the  third 
of  the  group  was  our  young  friend,  Mr.  Lowndes.   • 

"  I  owed  him  one,  you  see,  Lowndes,"  said  Mr.  Ringwood 
Twysden.  "  I  hate  the  fellow  !  Hang  him,  always  did  !  I  saw 
the  great  hulkin'  brute  standin'  there.  Could  n't  help  myself. 
Give  you  my  honor,  could 'nt  help  myself.  I  just  drove  Miss 
Trotter  at  him — sent  her  elbow  well  into  him,  and  spun  him  up 
against  the  wall.  The  buttons  cracked  off  the  beggar's  coat,  be- 
gad! What  business  had  he  there,  hang  him?  Gad,  sir,  he 
made  a  cannon  off  an  old  woman  in  blue,  and  went  into.  ..." 

Here. Mr.  Ringwood's  speech  came  to  an  end:  for  his  cousin 
stood  before  him,  grim  and  biting  his  mustaches. 

"  Hullo  !"  piped  the  other.  "  Who  wants  you  to  overhear  my 
conversation  ?     Dammy,.  I  say  !  I .... " 

Philip  put  out  that  hand  with  the  torn  glove.  The  glove  was 
in  a  dreadful  state  of  disruption  now.  He  worked  the  hand 
well  into  his  kinsman's  neck,  and  twisting  Ringwood  round  into 
a  proper  position,  brought  that  poor  old  broken  boot  so  to  bear 
upon  the  proper  quarter  that  Ringwood  was  discharged  into  the 
little  font,  and  lighted  amidst  the  flowers,  and  the  water,  and 
the  oil-lamps,  and  made  a  dreadful  mess  and  splutter  among 
them.     And  as  for  Philip's  coat,  it  was  torn  worse  than  ever. 

I  don't  know  how  many  of  the  bras3  buttons  had  revolted  and 
parted  company  from  the  poor  old  cloth,  which  cracked,  and 
split,  and  tore  under  the  agitation  of  that  beating,  angry  bosom. 
I  hope  our  artist  will  not  depict  Mr.  Firmin  in  this  ragged  state, 
a  great  rent  all  across  his  back,  and  his  prostrate  enemy  lying 
howling  in  the  water,  amidst  the  sputtering,  crashing  oil-lamps 
at  his  feet.  When  Cinderella  quitted  her  first  ball,  just  after 
the  clock  struck  twelve,  we  ail  know  how  shabby  she  looked. 
Philip  was  a  still  more  disreputable  object  when  he  slunk  away. 
I  don't  know  by  what  side-door  Mr.  Lowndes  eliminated  him. 
He  also  benevolently  took  charge  of  Philip's  kinsman  and  an- 
tagonist, Mr.  Ringwood  Twysden.  Mr.  Twysden's  hands,  coat- 
tails,  etc.,  were  very  much  singed  and  scalded  by  the  oil  and  cut 
by  the  broken  glass,  which  was  all  extracted  at  the  Beaujon 
hospital,  but  not  without  much  suffering  on  the  part  of  the  pa- 
tient. But  though  young  Lowndes  spoke  up  for  Philip,  in  de- 
scribing the  scene  (I  fear  not  without  laughter),  his  Excellency 
caused  Mr.  Firmin's  name  to  be  erased  from  his  party  lists ;  and 
I  am  sure  no  sensible  man  will  defend  his  conduct  for  a  moment. 

Of  this  lamentable  fracas  which  occurred  in  the  hotel  gar- 
den, Miss  Baynes  and  her  parents  had  no  knowledge  for  a  while. 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  279 

• 

Charlotte  was  too  much  occupied  with  her  dancing,  which  she 
pursued  with  all  her  might ;  papa  was  at  cards  with  some  sober 
male  and  female  veterans,  and  mamm\was  looking  with  delight 
at  her  daughter,  whom  the  young  gentlemen  of  many  embassies 
were  charmed  to  choose  for  a  partner.  When  Lord  Headbury, 
Lord  Estridge's  son,  was  presented  to  Miss  Baynes,  her  mother 
was  so  elated  that  she  was  ready  to  dance  too.  I  do  not  envy 
Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter  at  Tours  the  perusal  of  that  immense 
manuscript  in  which  her  sister  recorded  the  events  of  the  ball. 
Here  was  Charlotte,  beautiful,  elegant,  accomplished,  admired 
everywhere,  with  young  men,  young  noblemen  of  immense  prop- 
erty and  expectations,  wild  about  her ;  and  engaged  by  a  prom- 
ise to  a  rude,  ragged,  preswnptious,  ill-bred  young  man,  without 
a  penny  in  the  world — was  n't  it  provoking  ?  Ah,  poor  Philip  ! 
How  that  little  sour,  yellow  mother-in-law  elect  did  scowl  at  him 
when  he  came  with  rather  a  shamefaced  look  to  pay  his  duty  to 
his  sweetheart  on  the  day  after  the  ball.  Mrs.  Paynes  had 
caused  her  daughter  to  dress  with  extra  smartness,  had  forbidden 
the  poor  child  to  go  out,  and  coaxed  her,  and  wheedled  her,  and 
dressed  her  with  I  know  not  what  ornameuts  of  her  own,  with 
a  fond  expectation  that  Lord  Headbury,  that  the  yellow  young 
Spanish  attache,  that  the  sprightly  Prussian  secretary,  and  Wal- 
singham  Hely,  Charlotte's  partners  at  the  ball,  would  certainly  • 
call ;  and  the  only  equipage  that  appeared  at  Madame  Smo- 
lensk's gate  was  a  hack  cab,  which  drove  up  at  evening,  and  out 
of  which  poor  Philip's  well-known,  tattered  boots  came  striding. 
Such  a  fond  mother  as  Mrs.  Baynes  may  well  have  been  out  of 
humor. 

As  for  Philip,  he  was  unusually  shy  and  modest.  He  did  not 
know  in  what  light  his  friends  would  regard  his  escapade  of  the 
previous  evening.  He  had  been  sitting  at  home  all  the  morning 
in  state,  and  in  company  with  a  Polish  colonel,  who  lived  in  his 
hotel,  and  whom  Philip  bad  selected  to  be  his  second  in  case 
the  battle  of  the  previous  night  should  have  any  suite.  He  had 
left  that  colonel  in  company  with  a  bag  of  tobacco  and  au  order 
for  uulimited4>cer,  while  he  bimself  ran  up  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
his  beloved.  The  Bayneses  had  not  heard  of  the  battle  of.  the 
previous  night.  They  were  full  of  the  ball,  of  Lord  Estridge's 
affability,  of  the  Goleonda  embassador's  diamonds,  of  the  appear- 
ance of  the' royal  princes  who  honored  the  fete,  of  the  most  fash- 
ionable Paris  talk,  in  a  word.  Philip  was  scolded,  snubbed,  and 
coldly  received  by  mamma;  bub  he  was  used  to  that  sort  of  treat- 
ment, and  greatly  relieved  by  finding  that  she  was  unacquainted 
with  liia  own  disorderly  behavior.  lie  did  not  tell  Charlotte 
about  the  quarrel:  a  knowledge  of  it  might  alarm  the  little 
maiden  ;  and  so  for  one  our  friend  was  discreet,  and  held  his 
tongue. 

But  if  he  "had   any  influence  with  the  editor  of  < iaUynani's 


>vS0  THK    ADVKNTUKEfj    OF    FHii„lF 

m 

Messenger,  why  did  be  not  entreat  the  conductors  of  that  admi- 
rable journal  to  forego  all  mention  of  the  fracas  at  the  Embassy 
ball  V  Two  days  after  the  fete,  1  am  sorry  to  say,  there  appear- 
ed a  paragraph  in  the  paper  narrating  the  circumstances  of  the 
fight.  And  the  guilty  Philip  found  a  copy  of  that  paper  on  the 
table  before  Mrs.  Baynes  and  the  general  when  he  came  to  the 
Champs  Elysees  according  to  bis  wont.  Behind  that  paper  sate 
Major-General  Baynes,  C.B.,  looking  confused,  and  beside  him 
his  lady  frowning  like  Bhadamanthus.  But  no  Charlotte  was 
in  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

INFANDI     DOLORES. 

Philip's  heart  beat  very  quickly  at  seeing  this  grim  pair  and 
the  guilty  newspaper  before  them,  on  which  Mrs.  Baynes'  lean 
right  hand  was  laid.  "  So,  sir,"  she  cried,  u  you  still  honor  us 
with  your  company,  after  distinguishing  yourself  as  you  did  tho 
night  before  last.  Fighting  and  boxing  like  a  porter  at  his  Ex- 
cellency's ball.  It 's  disgusting  I  1  have  no  other  word  for  it — 
disgusting  !"  And  here  I  suppose  she  nudged  the  general,  or 
gave  him  some  look  or  signal  by  which  he  knew  he  was  to  come 
into  action  ;  for  Baynes  straightway  advanced  and  delivered  his 
fire. 

"  Faith,  sir,  more  bub-ub-blackguard  conduct  I  never  heard 
of  in  my  life  !  That 's  the  only  word  for  it ;  the  only  word  for 
it,"  cries  Baynes.  ■ 

"  The  general  knows  what  blackguard  conduct  is,  and  yours 
is  that  conduct,  Mr.  Firmin  !  It  is.  all  over  the  town  :  is  talked 
of  everywhere  :  will  be  in  all  the  newspapers.  When  his  lord- 
ship heard  of  it  he  was  furious.  Never,  never  will  you  be  ad- 
mitted into  the  Embassy  again,  after  disgracing  yourself  as  you 
have  done,"  cries  the  lady. 

"  Disgracing  yourself,  that 's  yie  word.  An^l  disgraceful 
your  conduct  was,  begad,"  cries  the  officer  second  in  command. 

"  You  don't  know  my  provocation,"  pleaded  poor  Philip. 
"  As  I  came  up  to  him  Twysden  was  boasting  that  he  had  struck 
me,  and — and  laughing  at  me.'' 

"  And  a  pretty  figure  you  were  to  come  to  a  ball.  Who  could 
help  laughing,  sir  '?  ' 

*•<!  He  bragged  of  having  insulted  me,  and  I  lost  my  temper, 
and  struck  him  in  return.  The  thing  is  done  and  can't  be 
helped,"  growled  Philip. 

"  Strike  a  little  man  before  ladies  !  Very  brave  indeed  !" 
cries  the  lady. 

"  Mrs.  Baynes  1" 


ON    HI«J    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  281 

"  I  call  it  cowardly.  Jn  the  army  we  consider  it  cowardly  to 
quarrel  before  ladies,"  continues  Mrs.General  B. 

"  I  have  waited  at  home  for  two  days  to  see  if  he  wanted  any 
more,"  groaned  Philip. 

**  O  yes  !  After  insulting  and*knocking  a  little  man  down,  you 
want  to  murder  him  !  Ami  you  call  that  the  conduct  of  a  Chris- 
tian, the  conduct  of  a  gentleman  !" 

"  The  conduct  of  a  ruflian,  by  George !"  says  General 
Baynes. 

"  It  was  prudent  of  you  to  choose  a  very  little  man,  and  to 
have  the  ladies  within  hearing  !''  continues  Mrs.  Baynes.  "  Why, 
I  wonder-  you  have  n't  beaten  my  dear  children  next.  Don't 
you,  general,  wonder  he  has  not  knocked  down  our  poor  boys  ? 
They  are  quite  small.  And  it  is  evident  that  ladies  being  pres- 
ent is  no  hindrance  to  Mr.  Firmin's  boxwy-matches." 

"  The  conduct  is  gross,  and  unworthy  of  a  gentleman,"  reiter- 
ates the  general. 

"  You  hear  what  that  man  says-^thatold  man,  who  never  says 
an  unkind  word?  That  veteran,  who  has  been  in  twenty  bat- 
tles, and  never  struck  a  man  before  women,  yet  V  Did  you, 
Charles  V  He  has  given  you  his  opinion.  He  has  called  you  a 
name  which  J  won't  soil  my  lips  with  repeating,  but  which  you 
deserve.  And  do  you  suppose,  sir,  that  I  will  give  my  blessed 
child  to  a  man  who  has  acted  as  you  have  acted,  and  been  called 
a —  ?  Charles!  General  !  I  will  goto  my  grave  rather  than  see 
my  daughter  given  up  to  such»a  man  !" 

"Good  heavens!"  said  Philip,  his  knees  trembling  under 
him.  u  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  intend  to  go  from  your 
word,  and — " 

"  Oh  !  you  threaten  about  money,  do  you  ?  Because  your 
father  was  a  cheat,  you  intend  to  try. and  make  us  suffer,  do 
you  V"  shrieks  the  lady.  "  A  mamwho  strikes  a  little  man  before 
ladies  will  eommffc  any  act  of  cowardice,  I  dare  say.  And  if  you 
wish  to  beggar  my  family  because  your  father  was  a  rogue — " 
"  My  dear  !"  interposes  the  general. 

"  Was  n't  he  a  rogue,  Baynes  V  Is  there  any  denying  it  V 
Have  n't  you  said  so  a  hundred  and  a  hundred  times  V  A  nice 
family  to  marry  into  !  No,  Mr.  Firmin  !  You  may  insult  me  as 
you  please.  You  may  strike  little  men  before  ladies.  You  may 
lift  your  great  wicked  hand  against  that  poor  old  man  in  one  of 
your  tipsy  fits  ;  but  I  know  a  mother's  love,  a  mother's  duty,  and 
I  desire  that  we  see  you  no  more." 

"  Great  Powers  !"  cries  Phiiip,  aghast.  u  You  don't  mean  to — 
tosepaiale  me  from  Charlotte,  general  !  1  have  your  word.  You 
encouraged  me.  I  shall  break  my  heart.  1  '11  go  down  on  my 
knees  to  that  iellow.  I  11 — oh  ! — aou  don't  mean  vhat  you  say!" 
And,  scared  and  sobbing,  the.  poor  fellow  clasped  his  strong  hands 
together,  and  appealed  to  the  general. 


282  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Baynes  was  under  bis' wife's  eye.  "I  think,"  he  said,  "  your 
conduct  has  been  confoundedly  bad,  disorderly,  and  ungentle- 
manlike.  You  can't  support  ray  child,  if  you  marry  her.  And 
if  you  have  the  least  spark  of  honor  in  you,  as  you  say  you  have, 
it  is  you,  Mr.  Firtnin,  who  will  break  off  the  match,  and  release 
the  poor  child  from  certain  misery.  By  George,  sir,  how  is  a 
man  who  fights  and  quarrels  in  a  nobleman's  ball-room  to  get  on 
in  the  world  V  How  is  a  man  who  can't  afford,  a  decent  coat  to 
his  back  to  keep  a  wife  ?  The  more  I  have  known  you,  the 
more  I  have  felt  that  the  engagement  would  bring  misery  upon 
my  child!  Is  that  what  you  want  ?  A  man  of  honor."  ("Honor!" 
in  italics,  from  Mrs.  Baynes.)  "  Hush,  my  dear !  A  man  of  spirit 
would  give  her  up,  sir.  What  have  you  to  offer  but  beggary, 
by  George  V  Do  you  want  my  girl  to  come  home  to  your  lodg- 
ings, and  mend  your  clothes  ?"  ••••"!  think  I  put  that  point  pretty 
well,  Bunch,  my  boy,"  said  the  general,  talking  of  the  matter 
afterward.     "  I  hit  him  there,  sir." 

The  old  soldier  did  indee^  strike  his  adversary  there  with  a 
vital  stab.  Philip's  coat,  no  doubt,  was  ragged,  and  his  purse 
but  light.  He  had  sent  money  to  his  father  out  of  his  small  stock. 
There  were  one  or  two  servants  in  the  old  house  in  Parr  street,  who 
had  been  left  without  their  wages,  and  a  part  of  these  debts  Philip 
had  paid.  He  knew  his  own  violence  of  temper,  and  his  unruly 
independence.  He  thought  very  humbly  of  his  talents,  and  often 
doubted  of  his  capacity  to  get  on  in  the  world.  In  his  less  hope- 
ful moods  he  trembled  to  think  that  he  might  be  bringing  poverty 
and  unhappiness  upon  his  dearest  little  maiden,  for  whom  he 
would  joyfully  have  sacrificed  his  blood,  his  life.  Poor  Philip 
sank  back  sickening  and  fainting  almost  under  Baynes'  words. 

"  You  '11  let  me — you  '11  let  me  see  her  ?"  he  gasped  out. 

u  She  's  unwell.  She  is  in  her  bed.  She  can't,  appear  to-day  !" 
cried  the  mother. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Baynes !  I  must,  I  must  see  her,*  Philip  said;  and 
fairly  broke  out  in  a  sob  of  pain. 

"  This  is  the  man  that  strikes  men  before  women  !"  said  Mrs. 
Baynes.     "  Very  courageous,  certainly  !" 

"  By  George,  Eliza  1"  the  general  cried  out,  starting  up.  "  It 's 
too  bad." .... 

"  Infirm  of  purpose,  give  me  the  daggers  !"  Philip  yelled  out, 
while  describing  the  scene  to  his  biographer  in  after-days.  "  Mac- 
beth would  never  have  done  the  murders  but  for  that  little  quiet 
woman  at  his  side.  When  the  Indian  prisoners  are  killed,  the 
squaws  always  invent  the  worst  tortures.  You  should  have  seen 
that  fiend  and  her  livid  smile  as  she  was  drilling  her  girablets  into 
my  heart.  I  don't  know  how  I  offended  her.  I  tried  to  like  her, 
sir.  I  had  humbled  myself  before  her.  I  went  on  her  errands. 
I  played  cards  with  he.r.%  I  sate  and  listened  to  her  dreadful 
stories  about  Barrackpore  and  the  governor-general.     I  wallow- 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  283 

ed  in  the  dust  before  her,  and  she  hated  me.  I  can  see  her  face 
now :  her  cruel  yellow  face,  and  her  sharp  teeth,  and  her  gray 
eyes.  It  was  the  end  of  August,  and  pouring  a  storm  that  day. 
1  suppose  my  poor  child  was  cold  and  suffering  up  stairs,  for  I 
heard  the  poking  of  a  fire  in  her  little  room.  When  I  hear  a  fire 
poked  overhead  now — twenty  years  after — the  whole  thing  comes 
back  to  me;  and  I  suffer  over  again  that  infernal  agon}'.  Were 
I  to  live  a  thousand  years  I  could  not  forgive  her.  I  never  did 
her  a  wrong,  but  I  can't  forgive  her.  Ah,  my  heaven,  how  that 
woman  tortured  me  !" 

"  1  think  I  know  one  or  two  similar  instances,"  said  Mr.  Fir- 
min's  biographer. 

"  You  are  always  speaking  ill  of  women  !"  said  Mr.  Firmin's 
biographer's  wife. 

"No,  thank  heaven  I'  said  the  gentleman.  "  I  think  I  know 
some  of  whom  I  never  thought  or  spoke  a  word  of  evil.  My 
dear,  will  you  give  Philip  some  more  tea  ?"  and  with  this  the  gen- 
tleman's narrative  is  resumed. 

The  rain  was  beating  down  the  avenue  as  Philip  went  into  the 
street.  He  looked  up  at  Charlotte's  window;  but  there  was  no 
sign.  There  was  a  flicker  of  a  fire  there.  The  poor  girl  had 
the  fever,  and  was  shuddering  in  her  little  room,  weeping  and 
sobbing  on  Madame  Smolensk's  shoulder,  que  celail  pitie  a  voir, 
madame  said.  Her  mother  had  told  her  she  must  break  from 
Philip ;  had  invented  and  spoken  a  hundred  calumnies  against 
him ;  declared  that  he  never  cared  for  her  ;  that  he  had  loose 
principles,  and  was  for  ever  haunting  theatres  and  bad  company. 
"It's  not  true,  mother,  it's  not  true!"  the  little  girl  had  cried, 
flaming  up  in  revolt  for  a  moment ;  but  she  soon  subsided  in 
tears  and  misery,  utterly  broken  by  the  thought  of  her  calamity. 
Then  her  father  had  been  brought  to  her,  who  had  been  made 
to  believe  some  of  the  stories  against  poor  Philip,  and  who  was 
commanded  by  his  wife  to  impress  them  upon  the  girl.  And 
Baynes  tried  to  obey  orders ;  but  he  was  scared  and  cruelly 
pained  by  the  sight  of  his  little  maiden's  grief  and  suffering. 
He  attempted  a  weak  expostulation,  and  began  a  speech  or  two. 
But  his  heart  failed  him.  He  retreated  behind  his  wife.  She 
never  hesitated  in  speech  or  resolution,  and  her  language  be- 
came more  bitter  as  her  ally  faltered.  Philip  was  a  drunkard; 
Philip  was  a  prodigal;  Philip  was  a  frequenter  of  dissolute 
haunts,  and  loose  companions.  She  had  the  best  authority  for 
what  she  said.  Was  not  a  mother  anxious  for  the  welfare  of 
her  own  child  ?  (u  Begad,  you-  don't  suppose  your  own  mother 
would  do  anything  that  was  not  tor  your  welfare,  now  ?"  broke 
in  the  general,  feebly.)  "Do  you  think  it*  he  had  not  been 
drunk  he  would  have  ventured  to  commit  such  an  atrocious  out- 
rage as  that  at  the  Embassy  ?  And  do  you  suppose  L  want  a 
drunkard  and  a  beggar  to 'marry  my  daughter?"     "  Yo*r  in- 


284  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

gratitude,  Charlotte,  is  horrible !"  cries  mamma.  And  poor 
Philip,  charged  with  drunkenness,  had  dined  for  seventeen  sous, 
with  a  carafbn  of  beer,  and  had  counted  on  a  supper  that  night 
by  little  Charlotte's  side  :  so,  while  the  child  lay  sobbing  on  her 
bed,  the  mother  stood  over  her  and*  lashed  her.  For  General 
Bay  ties — a  brave  man,  a  kind-hearted  man — to  have  to  look  on 
while  this  torture  was  inflicted,  must  have  been  a  hard  duty. 
He  could  not  eat  the  boarding-house  dinner,  though  he  took  his 
place  at  the  table  at  the  sound  of  the  dismal  bell.  Madame  her- 
self was  not  present  at  the  meal ;  and  you  know  poor  Charlotte's 
place  was  vacant.  Her  father  went  up  stairs,  and  paused  by  her 
bedroom  door,  and  listened.  He  heard  murmurs  within,  and 
madame's  voice,  as  he  stumbled  at  the  door,  cried  harshly,  "  Qui 
est  la  V*  He  entered.  Madame  was  sitting  on  the  bed,  with 
Charlotte's  head  on  her  lap.  The  thick  brown  tresses  were 
falling  over  the  child's  white  night-dress,  and  she  lay  almost 
motionless,  and  sobbing  feebly.  "  Ah,  it  is  you,  General !"  said 
madame.  "  You  have  done  a  pretty  work,  sir  !"  "  Mamma  says, 
won't  you  take  something,  Charlotte,  dear  ?"  faltered  the  old 
man.  "  Will  you  leave  her  tranquil?"  said  madame,  with  her 
deep  voice.  The  father  retreated.  When  madame  went  out 
presently  to  get  that  panacea,  une  tasse  de  the,  for  her  poor  little 
friend,  she  found  the  old  gentleman  seated  on  a  portmanteau  at 
his  door.  "  Is  she — is  she  a  little  better  now  ?"  he  sobbed  out. 
Madame  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  looked  down  on  the  veter- 
an with  superb  scorn.  "  Vous  n'etes  qu'un  poltron,  General !" 
she  said,  and  swept  down  stairs.  Baynes  was  beaten  indeed. 
He  was  suffering  horrible  pain.  He  was  quite  unmanned,  and 
tears  were  trickling  down  his  old  cheeks  as  he  sate  wretchedly 
there  in  the  flark.  His  wife  did  not  leave  the  table  as  long  as 
dinner  and  dessert  lasted.  She  read  Galignani  resolutely  after- 
ward. She  told  the  children  not  to  make  a  noise,  as  their  sister 
was  up  stairs  with  a  bad  headache.  But  she  revoked  that  state- 
ment, as  it  were  (as  she  revoked  at  cards  presently),  by  asking 
the  Miss  Bolderos  to  play  one  of  their  duets. 

1  wonder  whether  Philip  walked  up  and  down  before  the 
house  that  night  ?  Ah,  it  was  a  dismal  night  for  all  of  them — a 
racking  pain,  a  cruel  sense  of  shame  throbbed  under  Baynes' 
cotton  tassel ;  and  as  for  Mrs.  Baynes,  I  hope  there  was  not 
much  rest  or  comfort  under  her  old  nightcap.  Madame  passed 
the  greater  part  of  the  night  in  a  great  chair  in  Charlotte's  bed- 
room, where  the  poor  child  heard  the  hours  toll  one  after  the 
other,  and  found  no  comfort  in  the  dreary  rising  of  the  dawn. 

At  a  very  early  hour  of  the  dismal  rainy  morning,  what  made 
poor  little  Charlotte  lling  her  aims  round  madame,  and  cry  out, 
u  Ah,  que  je  vous  aime !'  ah,  que  vous  etes  bonne,  Madame  !" 
and  smile  almost  happily  through  her  tears  V  In  the  first  place, 
rnadawe  went  to  Charlotte's  dressing-table,  whence  she  took  a 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  285 

pair  of  scissors.  Then  the  little  maid  sat  up  on  her  bee],  with 
her  brown  hair  clustering  over  her  shoulders;  and  madame  took 
a  lock  of  it,  ami  cut  a  thick  curl;  and  kissed  poor  little  Char- 
lotte's red  eyes;  and  laid  her  pale  cheek  on  the  pillow,  and  care- 
fully covered  her;  and  bade  her,  with  many  tender  words,  to  go 
to  sleep.  "  If  you  are  very  good,  and  will  go  to  sleep,  he  shall 
have  it  in  half  an  hour,"  madame  said.  "  And  as  I  go  down 
stairs  I  will  tell  Francoise  to  have  some  tea  ready  for  you  when 
you  ring."  And  this  promise,  and  the  thought  of  what  madame 
was  going  to  do,  comforted  Charlotte  in  her  misery.  And  with 
many  fond,  fond  prayers  for  Philip,  and  consoled  by  thinking, 
"Now  she  must  have  gone  the  greater  part  of  the  way;  now 
she  must  be  with  him;  now  he  knows  I  will  n^ver,  never  love 
any  but  him,"  she  fell  asleep  at  length  on  her  moistened  pillow  : 
and  was  smiling  in  her  sleep,  and  I  dare  say  dreaming  of  Philip, 
when  the  noise  of  the  fall  of  a  piece  of  furniture  roused  ber,  and 
she  awoke  out  of  her  dream  to  see  the  grim  old  mother* in  her 
white  nightcap  and  white  dressing-gown,  standing  by  her  side. 

Never  mind.  "  She  has  seen  him  now.  She  has  told  him/' 
was  the  child's  very  first  thought  as  her  eyes  fairly  opened.  "  He 
knows  that  I  never,  never  will  think  of  any  but  him."  She  felt; 
as  if  she  was  actually  there  in  Philip's  room,  speaking  herself  to 
him ;  murmuring  vows  which  her  fond  lips  had  whispered 
many  and  many  a  time  to  her  lover.  And  now  he  knew  she 
would  never  break  them  slie  was  consoled  and  felt  more  courage. 

"  You  have  had  some  sleep,  Charlotte  ?"  asks  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  asleep,  mamma."  As  she  speaks,  she«feels 
under  the  pillow  a  little  locket  containing — what  ?  I  suppose  a 
scrTlp  of  Mr.  Philip's  lank  hair. 

"  I  hope  you  are  in  a  less  wicked  frame  of  mind  than  when  I 
left  you  last  night,"  continues  the  matron. 

"  Was  I  wicked  for  loving  Philip  ?  Then  I  am  wicked  still, 
mamma !"  cries  the  child,  sitting  up  in  her  bed.  And  she 
clutches  that  little  lock  of  hair  which  nestles  under  her  pillow. 

"  What  nonsense,  child  !  This  is  what  you  get  out  of  your 
stupid  novels.  I  tell  you  he  does  not  think  about  you.  He  is 
quite  a  reckless,  careless  libertine." 

u  Yes,  so  reckless  and  careless  that  we  owe  him  the  bread  we 
eat.  He  does  n't  think  of  me  !  Does  n't  he  ?  Ah — "  Here 
she  paused  as  a  clock  in  a  neighboring  chamber  began  to  strike. 
"  Now,"  she  thought,  "  he  has  got  my*  message !"  A  smile 
dawned  over  her  face.  She  sank  back  on  her  pillowy  turning 
her  head  from  her  mother.  She  kissed  the  locket,  and  murmur- 
ed :  "  Not  think  of  me  !  Don't  you,  don't  you,  my  dear  !"  She 
did  not  heed  the  woman  by  her  side,  hear  her  voice,  or  for  a  mo- 
ment seem  aware  of  her  presence.  Charlotte  was  away  in 
Philip's  room ;  she  saw  him  talking  with  her  messenger ;  heard 
his  voice  so  deep,  and  so  sweet ;  knew  that  the  promises  he  had 


286  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    rHILIP 

spoken  he  never  would  break.  With  gleaming  eyes  and  flushing 
cheeks  she  looked  at  her  another,  her  enemy.  She  held  her 
talisman  locket  and  pressed  it  to  her  heart.  No,  she  would  never 
be  Untrue  to  him  !  No,  he  would  never,  never  desert  her !  And 
as  Mrs.  Baynes  looked  at  the  honest  indignation  beaming  in  the 
child's  face  she  read  Charlotte's  revolt,  defiance,  perhaps  victory. 
The  meek  child,  who  never  before  had  questioned  an  order  or 
formed  a  wish  which  she  would  not  sacrifice  at  her  mother's 
order,  was  now  in  arms  asserting  independence.  But  I  should 
think  mamma  is  not  going  to  give  up  the  command  after  a  single 
act  of  revolt,  and  that  she  will  try  more  attempts  than  one  to 
cajole  or  coerce  her  rebel. 

Meanwhile  let  Fancy  leave  the  talisman  locket  nestling  on 
Charlotte's  little  heart  (in  which  soft  shelter  methinks  it  were 
pleasant  to  linger).  Let  her  wrap  a  shawl  round  her,  and  affix 
to  her  feet  a  pair  of  stout  galoshes ;  let  her  walk  rapidly  through 
the  muddy  Champs  Elysees,  where,  in  this  inclement  season,  only 
a  few  policemen  and  artisans  are  to  be  found  moving.  Let  her 
pay  a  half-penny  at  the  Pont  des  Invalides,  and  so  march  stoutly 
along  the  quays,  by  the  Chamber  of  Deputies — where  as  yet 
deputies  assemble — and  trudge  along  the  river-side,  until  she 
reaches  Seine  street,  into  which,  as  you  all  know,  the  Rue 
Poussin  debouches.  This  was  the  road  brave  Madame  Smolensk 
took  on  a  gusty,  rainy  autumn  morning,  and  on  foot,  for  five- 
franc  pieces  were  scarce  with  the  gbod  woman.  Before  the 
Hotel  Poussin  (ah,  qu'on  y  etait  bien  a  vifigt  ans  /)  is  a  little  paint- 
ed wicket  which  opens,  ringing,  a$d  then  there  is  the  passage, 
you  know,  with  the  stair  leading  to  the  upper  regions,  to 
Monsieur  Philip's  room,  which  is  on  the  first  floor,  as  is  that  of 
Bouchard,  the  painter,  who  has  his  atelier  over  the  way.  A  bad 
painter  is  Bouchard,  but  a  worthy  friend,  a  cheery  companion, 
a  modest,  amiable  gentleman.  And  a  rare  good  fellow  is  Laberge 
of  the  second  floor,  the  poet  from  Carcassonne,  who  pretends  to 
be  studying  law,  but  whose  heart  is  with  the  Muses,  and  whose 
talk  is  of  Victor  Hugo  and  Alfred  de  Musset,  whose  verses  he 
will  repeat  to  all  comers.  Near  Laberge  (I  think  I  have  heard 
Philip  say)  lived  Escasse,  a  Southern  man  too — a  capitalist — a 
clerk  in  a  bank,  quoit — whose  apartment  was  decorated  sumptu- 
ously with  his  own  furniture,  who  had  Spanish  wine  and  sausages 
in  cupboards,  and  a  bag  of  dollars  for  a  friend  in  need.  Is 
Escasse  alive  still?  Philip  Firmin  wonders,  and  that  old  colonel, 
who  lived  on  the  same  floor,  and  who  had  been  a  prisoner  in 
England  ?  What  wonderful  descriptions  that  Colonel  Dujarret 
had  of  les  meess  Anglaises  and  their  singularities  of  dress  and 
behavior !  Though  conquered  and  a  prisoner,  what  a  con- 
queror and  enslaver  he  was,  when  in  our  country !  You  see,  in 
his  rough  way,  Philip  used  to  imitate  these  people  to  his  friends, 
and  we  almost  fancied  we  could  see  the  hotel  before  us.     It  was 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  287 

very  clean ;  it  was  very  cheap  ;  it  was  very  dark  ;  it  was  very 
cheerful — capital  coffee  and  bread  and  butter  for  breakfast  for 
fifteen  sons ;  capital  bedroom  au  premier   for   thirty   francs  a 
month — dinner  if  you  would  for  I  forget  how  little,  and  a  merry 
talk  round  the  pipes  and  the  grog  afterward — the  grog,  or  the 
modest  eau  siicree.     Here  Colonel  Duj arret  recorded  his  victo- 
ries over  both  sexes.     Here  Colonel  Tymowski  sighed  over  his 
enslaved  Poland.     Tymowski  was  the  second  who  was  to  act  for 
Philip  in  case  the  Ringwood  Twysden  affair  should  have  come  to 
any  violent  conclusion.     Here  Laberge  bawled  poetry  to  Philip, 
who,  no  doubt,  in  his  turn,  confided  to  the  young  Frenchman 
his  own  hopes  and  passion.     Deep  in  the  night  he  would    sit 
talking  of  his  love,  of  her  goodness,  of  her  beauty,  of  her  inno- 
cence, of  her  dreadful  mother,  of  her  good  old  father — que  sais- 
je  ?     Have  we  not  said  that  when  this  man  had  anything  on  his 
mind  straightway  he  bellowed  forth  his  opinions  to  the  universe  ? 
Philip,  away  from  his  love,  would  roar  out  her  praises  for  hours 
and  hours  to  Laberge,  until  the  candles  burned  down,  until  the 
hour  for  rest  was  come,  and  could  be  delayed  no  longer.     Then 
he  would  hie  to  bed  with  a  prayer  for  her;  and  the  very  instant 
he  awoke  begin  to  think  of  her,  and  bless  her,  and  thank  God 
for  her  love.     Poor  as  Mr.  Philip  was,  yet  as  the  possessor  of 
health,  content,  honor,  and  that  priceless  pure  jewel,  the  girl's 
love,  1  think  we  will  not  pity  him  much  ;  though,  as  for  the  night 
when  he  received  his  dismissal  from  Mrs.  Barnes,  he  must  have 
passed  an  awful  time,  to  be  sure.     Toss,  Philip,  on  your  bed  of 
pain,  and  doubt,  and  fear.     Toll,  heavy  hours,  from  night   till 
dawn.     Ah  !  't  was  a  weary  night  through  which  two  sad  young 
hearts  heard  you  tolling. 

At  a  pretty  early  hour  the  various  occupants  of  the  crib  at  the 
Rue  Poussin  used  to  appear  in  the  dingy  little  salle-a-manger, 
and  partake  of  the  breakfast  there  provided.  Monsieur  Menou, 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  shared  and  distributed  the  meal.  Madame 
Menou,  with  a  Madras  handkerchief  round  her  grizzling  head, 
laid  down  the  smoking  coffee  on  the  shining  oil-cloth,  while  each 
guest  helped  himself  out  of  a  little  museum  of  napkins  to  his 
own  particular  towel.  The  room  was  small ;  the  breakfast  was 
not  fine  ;  the  guests  who  partook  of  it  were  certainly  not  re- 
markable for  the  luxury  of  clean  linen  ;  but  Philip,  who  is  many 
years  older  now  than  when  he  dwelt  in  this  hotel,  and  is  not 
pinched  for  money  at  all,  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear  (and,  be- 
tween ourselves,  has  become  rather  a  gourmand),  declares  he  was 
a  very  happy  youth  at  this  humble  Hotel  Poussin,  and  sighs  for 
the  days  when  he  was  sighing  for  Miss  Charlotte. 

Well,  he  has  passed  a  dreadful  night  of  gloom  and' terror. 
I  doubt  that  he  has  bored  Laberge  very  nmeh  with  his  tears  and 
despondency.  And  now  morning  has  come,  and  as  he  is  having 
his  breakfast  with  one  or  more  of  the  before-named  worthies,  the 


288  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

little  boy-of-all-work  enters  grinning,  his  plumsf  under  his  arm, 
and  cries,  "  Une  dame  pour  M.  Philippe  /" 

"  Une  dame"  says  the  French  colonel,  looking  up  from  his 
paper  ;  "  allez,  mauvais  sujet  /" 

"Grand  Dieu!  what  has  happened?"  cries  Philip,  running 
forward,  as  he  recognizes  madame's  tall  figure  in  the  passage. 
They  go  up  to  his  room,  I  suppose,  regardless  of  the  grins  and 
sneers  of  the  little  boy  with  the  plumet,  who  aids  the  maid-servant 
to  make  the  beds,  and  who  thinks  Monsieur  Philippe  has  a  very 
elderly  acquaintance. 

Philip  closes  the  door  upon  his  visitor,  who  looks  at  him  with  so 
much  hope,  kindness,  confidence  in  her  eyes,  that  the  poor  fellow 
is  encouraged  almost  ere  she  begins  to  speak.  "  Yes,  you  have 
reason  ;  I  come  from  the  little  person,"  Madame  Smolensk  said  : 
"  the  means  of  resisting  that  poor  dear  angel !  She  has  passed  a 
sad-  night.  What  ?  You,  too,  have  not  been  in  bed,  poor  young 
man  !"  Indeed  Philip  had  only  thrown  himself  on  his  bed,  and 
had  kicked  there,  and  had  groaned  there,  and  had  tossed  there ; 
and  had  tried  to  read,  and,  I  dare  say,  remembered  afterward, 
with  a  strange  interest,  the  book  he  read,  and  that  other  thought 
which  was  throbbing  in  his  brain  all  the  time  while  he  was  read- 
ing, and  while  the  wakeful  hours  went  wearily  tolling  by. 

"No,  in  effect,"  says  poor  Philip,  rolling  a  dismal  cigarette; 
"the  night  has  not  been  too  fine.  And  she  has  suffered  too? 
Heaven  bless  her !"  And  then  Madame  Smolensk  told  how  the 
little  dear  angel  had  cried  all  the  night  long,  and  how  the 
Smolensk  had  not  succeeded  in  comforting  her,  until  she  prom- 
ised she  would  go  to  Philip,  and  tell  him  that  his  Charlotte  would 
be  his  for  ever  and  ever  ;  that  she  never  could  think  of  any  man 
but  him.;  that  he  was  the  best,  and  the  dearest,  and  the  bravest, 
and  the  truest  Philip,  and  that  she  did  not  believe  one  word 
of  those  wicked  stories  told  against  him  by  —  "  Hold,  Monsieur 
Philippe  ;  I  suppose  Madame  la  Generale  has  been  talking  about 
you,  and  loves  you  no  more,"  cried  Madame  Smolensk ;  "  we 
other  women  are  assassins — assassins,  see  you  !  But  Madame  la 
Generale  went  too  far  with  the  little  maid.  She  is  an  obedient 
little  maid,  the  dear  miss !— trembling  before  her  mother,  and 
always  ready  to  yield — only  now  her  spirit  is  roused ;  and  she  is 
yours,  and  yours  only.  The  little  dear,  gentle  child  !  Ah,  how 
pretty  she  was,  leaning  on  my  shoulder !  I  held  her  there — yes, 
there,  my  poor  garcon,  and  I  cut  this  from  her  neck,  and  brought 
it  to  thee.  Come,  embrace  me.  Weep ;  that  does  good,  Philip. 
I  love  thee  well.  Go — and  thy  little —  It  is  an  angel !"  And 
so,  in  the  hour  of  their  pain,  myriads  of  manly  hearts  have 
found  woman's  love  ready  to  soothe  their  anguish. 

Leaving  to  Philip  that  thick  curling  lock  of  brown  hair  (from 
a  head  where  now,  mayhap,  there  is  a  line  or  two  of  matron 
silver),  this  Samaritan  plods  her  way  back  to  her  own  house, 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  289 

where  her  own  cares  await  her.  But  though  the  way  is  long, 
madame's  step  is  lighter  now,  as  she  thinks  how  Charlotte  at  the 
journey's  end  is  waiting  for  news  of  Philip ;  and  I  suppose  there 
are  more  krsses  and  embraces  when  the  good  soul  meets  with  the 
little  Buffering  girl,  and  tells  her  how  Philip  will  remain  forever 
true  and  faithful ;  and  how  true  love  must  come  to  a  happy  end- 
ing; and  how  she,  Smolensk,  will  do  all  in  her  power  to  aid, 
comfort,,  and  console  her  young  friends.  As  for  the  writer  of 
Mr.  Philip's  memoirs,  you  see  I  never  try  to  make  any  conceal- 
ments. I  have  told  you  all  along  that  Charlotte  and  Philip  are 
married,  and  I  believe  they  are  happy.  But  it  is  certain  that 
they  suffered  dreadfully  at  this  time  of  their  lives;  and  my  wife 
says  that  Charlotte,  if  she  alludes  to  the  period  and  the  trial^ 
speaks  as  though  they  had  both  undergone  some  hideous  opera- 
tion, the  remembrance  of  which  for  ever  causes  a  pang  to  the 
memory.  So,  my  young  lady,  will  you  have  your  trial  one  day — 
to  be  borne,  pray  heaven,  with  a  meek  spirit.  Ah,  how  surely 
the  turn  comes  to  all  of  us  !  Look  at  Madame  Smolensk  at  her 
luncheon-table,  this  day,  after  her  visit  to  Philip  at  his  lodging, 
after  comforting  little  Charlotte  in-her  pain.  How  brisk  she  is  ! 
How  good-natured!  How  she  smiles  !  How  she  speaks  to  all 
her  company,  and  carves  for  her  guests !  You  do  not  suppose 
she  has  no  griefs  and  cares  of  her  own  ?  You  know  better.  I 
dare  say  she  is  thinking  of  her  creditors;  of  her  poverty;  of 
that  accepted  bill  which  will  come  due  next  week,  and  so  forth. 
The  Samaritan  who  rescues  you,  most  likely,  has  been  robbed 
and  has  bled  in  his  day,  and  it  is  a  wounded  arm  that  bandages 
yours  when  bleeding. 

If  Anatole,  the  boy  who  scoured  th>;  plain  at  the  Hotel  Poussin, 
with  his  plumet  in  his  jacket-pocket,  and  his  slippers  soled  with 
scrubbing-brushes,  saw  the  embrace  "between  Philip  and  his  good 
friend,  I  believe,  fn  his  experience  at  that  hotel,  he  never  wit- 
nessed a  transaction  more  honorable,  generous,  and  blameless. 
Put  what-  construction  you  will  on  the  business,  Anatole,  you 
little  imp  of  mischief!  your  mother  never  gave  you  a  kiss  more 
tender  than  that  which  Madame  Smolensk  bestowed  on  Philip — 
than  that  which  she  gave  Philip  ?— than  that  which  she  carried 
back  from  him  and  faithfully  placed  on  poor  little  Charlotte's 
pale  round  cheek.  The  world  is  full  of  love  and  pity,  I  say. 
Had  there  been  less  suffering  there  would  have  been  less  kind- 
ness. I,  for  one,  almost  wish  to  be  ill  again,  so  that  the  friends 
who  succored  me  might  once  more  come  to  my  rescue. 

To  poor  little  wounded  Charlotte  in  her  bed  our  friend  the 
mistress  of  the  boarding-house  brought  back  inexpressible  com- 
fort. Whatever  might  betide,  Philip  would  never  desert  her! 
"Think  you  I  would  eve?  have,  gone  on  such  an  embassy  for  a 
French  girl,  or  interfered  between  her  and  Her  parents  ?"  ma- 
dame  asked.  "  Never,  never  !  But  you  and  Monsieur  Philip  are 
25 


290  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

already  betrothed  before  heaven ;  and  T  should  despise  you, 
Charlotte,  I  should  despise  him,  were  either  to  draw  back."  This 
little  point  being  settled  in  Miss  Charlotte's  mind,  J  can  fancy 
she  is  immensely  soothed  and  comforted;  that  hope  and  courage 
settle  in  her  heart;  that  the  color  comes  back  to  her  young 
cheeks :  that  she  can  come  and  join  her  family  as  she  did  yester- 
day. "I  told  you  she  never  cared  about  him,"  says  Mrs.  Baynes 
to  her  husband.  "  Faith  no,  she  can't  have  cared  for  him  much," 
says  Baynes,  with  something  of  a  sorrow  that  his  girl  should  be 
so  light-minded.  But  you  and  I,  who  have  been  behind  the 
scenes,  who  have  peeped  into  Philip's  bedroom  and  behind  poor 
Charlotte's  modest  curtains,  know  that  the  girl  had  revolted  from 
Jier  parents;  and  so  children  will,  if  the  authority  exercised  over 
them  is  too  tyrannical  or  unjust.  Gentle  Charlotte,  who  scarce 
ever  resisted,  was  aroused  and  in  rebellion  :  honest  Charlotte, 
who  used  to  speak  all  her  thoughts,  now  hid  them,  and  deceived 
father  and  mother — yes,  deceived — what  a  confession  to  make 
regarding  a  young  lady,  t\n>  prima  donna  of  our  opera!  Mrs. 
Baynes  is,  as  usual,  writing  her  length)-  scrawls  to  sister  Mac- 
Whirter,  at  Toms,  and  informs  the  major's  lady  that  she  has  very 
great  satisfaction  in  at  last  being  able  to  announce  "that  that 
most  imprudent  and  in  all  respects  ineligible  engagement  between 
her  Charlotte  and  a  certain  young  man,  son  of  a  bankrupt  Lon- 
don physician,  is  come  to  an  end.  Mr.  F.'s  conduct  has  been  so 
wild,  so  gross,  so  disorderly,  and  ungentlemanlike,  that  the  general 
(and  you  know,  Maria,  how  soft  and  sweet  a  tempered  man 
Baynes  is)  has  told  Mr.  Firmin  his  opinion  in  unmistakable 
words,  and  forbidden  him  to  continue  his  visits.  After  seeing 
him  every  day  for  six  months,  during  which  time  she  has  accus- 
tomed herself  to  his  peculiarities,  and  his  often  coarse  and  odious 
expressions  and  conduct,  no  wonder  the  separation  has  been  a 
shock  to  dear  Char,  though  I  believe  the  young  man  feels  noth- 
ing who  has  been  the  cause  of  all  this  grief.  That  he  cares  but 
little  for  her,  has  been  my  opinion  all  alo7ig,  though  she,  artless 
child,  gave  him  her  whole  affection.  He  has  been  accustomed 
to  throw  over  women  ;  and  the  brother  of  a  young  lady  whom 
Mr.  F.  had  courted  and  left  (and  who  has  made  a  most  excellent 
match  since)  showed  his  indignation  at  Mr.  F/s  conduct  at  the 
Embassy  ball  the  other  night,  on  which  the  young  man  took  ad- 
vantage of  his  greatly  superior  size  and  strength  to  begin  a  vul- 
gar boxing-match,  in  which  both  parties  were  severely  wounded.. 
Of  course  you  saw  the  paragraph  in  GaUgnani  about  the  whole 
affair.  I  sent  our  dresse*,  but  it  did  not  print  them,  though  our 
names  appeared  as  among  the  company.  Anything  more  singu- 
lar than  the  appearance  of  Mr.  F.  you  can  not  well  imagine.  I 
wore  my  garnets;  Charlotte  (who  attracted  universal  admiration) 
was  in,  etc.,  etc.  *  Of  course,  the  separation  has  occasioned  her 
a  good  deal  of  pain ;  for  Mr.  F.  certainly  behaved  with  much 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  291 

kindness  and  forbearance  on  a  previous  occasion.  But  the  gen- 
eral will  not  hear  of  the  continuance  of  the  connection.  He  says 
the  )roung  man's  conduct  has  been  too  gross  and  shameful ;  and 
when  once  roused,  you  know,  I  might  as  well  attempt  to  chain  a 
tiger  as  Baynes.  Our  poor  Char  will  suffer,  no  doubt,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  behavior  of  this  brute,  but  she  has  ever  been  an 
obedient  child,  who  knows  how  to  honor  her  father  and  mother. 
She  bears  up  icondcrfuUij,  though,  of  course,  the  dear  child  suf- 
-fers  at  the  parting.  I  think  if  she  icere  to  go  to  you  and  Mac- 
Whirler  a£  Tours  for  a  month  or  two,  she  would  be  all  the  better 
for  change  of  air,  too,  dear  Mac.  Come  and  fetch  Jjer,  and  we 
will  pay  the  dawk.  She  would  go  to  certain  poverty  and  wretch- 
edness did  she  marry  this  most  violent  and  disreputable  young 
man.     The  general  sends  regards  to  Mac,  and  I  am,"  etc. 

That  these  were  the  actual  words  of  Mrs.  Baynes'  letter  I  can 
not,  as  a  veracious  biographer,  take  upon  myself  to  say.  I  never 
saw  the  document,  though  I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  peruse 
others  from  the  same  hand.  Charlotte  saw  the  letter  some  time 
after,  when  on  a  visit  to  her  aunt  at  Tours,  and  when  a  quarrel 
occurred  between  the  two  sisters — Mrs.  Major  and  Mrs.  General 
— and  Charlotte  mentioned  the  contents  of  the  letter  to  a  friend 
of  mine  who  has  talked  to  me  about  his  affairs,  and  especially  his 
love  affairs,  for  many  and  many  a  long  hour.  And  shrewd  old 
woman  as  Mrs.  Baynes  may  be,  you  may  see  how  utterly  she  was 
mistaken  in  fancying  that  her  daughter's  obedience  was  still 
secure.  The  little  maid  had  left  father  and  mother,  at  first  with 
their  eager  sanction  ;  her  love  had  been  given  to  Firmin ;  and 
an  inmate — a  prisoner  if  you  will — under  her  father's  roof,  her 
heart  remained  with  Philip,  however  time  or  distance  might  sep- 
arate them. 

And  now,  as  we  have  the  command  of  Philip's  desk,  and  are 
free  to  open  and  read  the  private  letters  which  relate  to  his  his- 
tory, I  take  leave  to  put  in  a  document  which  was  penned  in  his 
place  of  exile  by  his  worthy  father,  upon  receiving  the  news  of 
the  quarrel  described  in  the  last  chapter  of  these  memoirs : 

"Artor  House.  Nkw  York,  September  27. 
"Dkar  PniLip:  I  received  the  news  in  your  last  kind  ;md  aft'ection- 
ate  letter  with  not  unminglejd  pleasure;  but  ah,  what  pleasure  in  life 
does  not  carry  its  amari  ((liquid  along  with  it?  That  you  arc  hearty, 
cheerful,  and  industrious,  earning  ft  small  competence,  I  am  pleased  in- 
deed to  think;  that  you  talk  about  being  married  to  a  penniless  girl  I 
can't  say  gives  me  a  very  sincere  pleasure.  With  your  good  looks,  good 
manm-iv.  at tainments,  you  might  have  hoped  for  a  better  match  than  a 
half-pay  officer's  daughter.  JUit  it  is  useless  speculating  on  what 
might  have  been.  We  are  puppets  in  the  hands  df  fate,  most  of  us. 
We  are  carried  along  by  a  power  stronger  than  ourselves.  It  has  driv- 
en me.  at  sixty  years  of  age,  from  competence,  general  respect,  high 
position,  to  poverty  and  e>:ile.  So  be  it!  laudo  man<iiU/i>,  as  my  de- 
lightful old  friend  and  philosopher  teaches  me — si"  celenes  quatit  pettnas 


292  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

. . .  .you  know  the  rest.     Whatever  our  fortune  may  be,  I  hope  that  my 
Philip  and  his  father  will  bear  it  with  the  courage  of  gentlemen. 

u  Our  papers  have  announced  the  death  of  your  poor  mother's  uncle, 
Lord  Ringwood,  and  I  had  a  fond  lingering  hope  that  he  might  have 
left  some  token  of  remembrance  to  his  brother's  grandson.  He  has  not. 
You  have  probam  pauperiem  sine  dote.  You  have  courage,  health, 
strength,  and  talent.  I  was  in  greater  straits  than  you  are  at  your  age. 
My  father  was  not  as  indulgent  as  yours,  I  hope  and  trust,  has  been. 
From  debt  and  dependence  I  worked  myselfrup  to  a  proud  position  by 
my  own  efForts.  That  the  stofm  overtook  mo  and  engulfed  me  afterward 
is  true.  But  I  am  like  the  merchant  of  my  favorite  poet:  I -still  hope 
— ay,  at  sixty-three!  to  mend  my  shattered  ships,  in docilis  pauperiem 
pati.  I  still^iaope  to  pay  back  to  my  dear  boy  that  fortune  which. ought 
to  have  been  his,  and  which  went  down  in  my  own  shipwreck.  Some- 
thing tells  me  I  must,  I  will ! 

"  I  agree  with  you  that  your  escape  from  Agnes  Twysden  has  been  a 
piece  oj  good  fortune  for  you,  and  am  much  diverted  by  your  account  of 
her  dusky  inamorato.  Between  ourselves,  the  fondness  of  the  Twysdens 
for  money  amounted  to  meanness.  And  though  I  always  received 
Twysden  in  dear  old  Parr-street,  as  I  trust  a  gentleman  should,  his  com- 
pany was  insufferably  tedious  to  me,  and  his  vulgar  loquacity  odious. 
His  son  also  was  little  to  my  taste.  Indeed  I  was  heartily  relieved  when 
I  found  your  connection  with  that  family  was  over,  knowing  their  ra- 
pacity about  money,  and  that  it  was  your  fortune,  not  you,  they  were 
anxious  to  secure  for  Agnes. 

"You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  am  in  not  inconsiderable  practice 
already.  My  reputation  as  a  physician  had  preceded  me  to  this  coun- 
try. Mjr  work  on  Gout  was  favorably  noticed  here,  and  in  Philadel- 
phia, and  in  Boston,  b}r  the  scientiiic  journals  of  those  great  cities. 
People  are  more  generous  and  compassionate  toward  misfortune  here 
than  in  our  cold-hearted  island.  I  could  mention  several  gentlemen  of 
New  York  who  have  suffered  shipwreck,  like  myself,  and  are  now  pros- 
perous and  respected.  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  of  considerable 
professional  service  to  Colonel  J.  B.  Fogle,  of  New  York,  on  our  voyage 
out;  and  the  colonel,  who  is  a  leading  personage  here,  has  shown  him- 
self not  at  all  ungrateful.  Those  who  fancy  that  at  New  York  people 
can  not  appreciate  and  understand. the  manners  of  a  gentleman,  are  not 
a  little  mistaken ;  and  a  man  who,  like  myself,  has  lived  with  the  best 
society  in  London,  has,  I  flatter  myself,  not  lived  in  that  society  quite 
in  vain.  The  colonel  is  proprietor  and  editor  of  one  of  the  most  bril- 
liant and  influential  journals  of  the  city.  You  know  that  arms  alul  the 
toga  are  often  worn  here  by  the  same  individual,  and. . . . 

"I  had  actually  written  thus  far  when  I  read  in  the  colonel's  paper, 
the  New  York  Emerald,  an  account  of  your  battle  with  your  cousin  at 
the  Embassy  ball.  Oh,  you  pugnacious. Philip!  Well,  young  Twysden 
was  very  vulgar,  very  rude,  and  overbearing,  and,  I  have  no  doubt,  de- 
served the  chastisement  you  gave  him.  By  the  way,  the  correspondent 
of  the  Emerald  makes  some  droll  blunders  regarding  you  in  his  letter. 
We  are  all  fair  game  for  publicity  in  this  country,  where  the  press  is  freo 
with  a  vengeance  ;  and  your  private  affairs,  or  mine,  or  the  President's, 
or  our  gracious  Queen's,  for  the  matter  of  that,  are  discussed  with  a 
freedom  which  certainly  amounts  to  license.  The  colonel's  lady  is  pass- 
ing the  winter  in  Paris,  where  I  should  wish  you  to  pay  your  respects 
to  her.  Her  husband  has  been  most  kind  to  me.  I  am  told  that  Mrs. 
F.  lives  in  the  very  choicest  French  society,  and  the  friendship  of  this 
family  may  be  useful  to  you  as  to  your  affectionate  father, 

"G.  B.  F. 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE  WORLD.  293 

''Address  as  usual,  until  you  hear  further  from  me,  as  Doctor  Bran- 
don, New  York.  I  wonder  whether  Lord  Estridge  has  asked  you  after 
his  old  college  friend!  When  he  was  lleadUiry  and  at  Triuity,  ho 
and  a  certain  pensioner  whom  men  used  to  nickname  Brummell  Firmin 
were  said  to  be  the  best  dressed  men  in  the  university.  Estridge  has 
advanced  to  rank,  to  honors  !  You  may  rely  on  it  that  he  will  have  one 
of  the  very  next  vacant  garters.  What  a  different,  what  an  unfortunate 
career,  has  been  his  quondam  .friend's  !■-— an  exile,  an  inhabitant  of  a 
small  room  in  a  great  hotel,  where  I  sit  at  a  scrambling  public  table 
with  all  sorts  of  coarse  people!  The  way  in  which  they  bolt  their  din- 
ner, often  with-  a  //)//'<".  shocks  me.  Your  remittance  was  most  welcome, 
small  as  it  was.  It  shows  my  Philip  has  a  kind  heart.  Ah  !  why,  why 
are  you  thinking  of  marriage,  who  are  so  poor?  By  the  way,  your  en- 
couraging account  of  your  circumstances  has  induced  me  to  draw  upon 
you  for  one  hundred  dollars.  The  bill  will  go  to  Europe  by  the  packet 
which  carries  this  letter,  and  has  kindly  been  cashed  for  mo  by  my 
friend-.  M  >ssrs.  Plaster  and  Shinman,  of  Wall-street,  respected  bank- 
ers of  this  city.  Leave  your  card  with  Mrs.  Fogle.  Her  hushaiul  him- 
self may  he  useful  to  you  and  your  ever  attached  Fathb-r." 

We  take  the  New  York  Emerald  at  Bays',  and  in  it  I  had  read 
a  very  amusing  account  of  our  friend  Philip,  in  an  ingenious 
correspondence  entitled  "Letters  from  an  Attache,"  which  ap- 
peared in  that  journal.  I  even  copied  the  paragraph  to  show  to 
my  wife,  and  perhaps  to  forward  to  our  friend. 

"  I  promise  you,"  wrote  the  attache,  "  the  new  country  did 
not  disgrace  the  old  at  the  British  Embassy  ball  on  Queen  Vic's 
birthday.  Colonel  Z.  B.  Hoggins'  lady,  of  Albany,  and  the 
peerless  bride  of  Elijah  J.  Dibbs,  of  Twenty-ninth-street,  in  your 
city,- were  the  observed  of  all  observers  for  splendor,  for  elegance, 
for  refined  native  beauty.  The  royal  duKes  danced  with  no- 
body else  ;  and  at  the  attention  of  one  of  the  princes  to  the  lovely 
Miss  Dibbs,  I  observed  his  royal  duchess  looked  as  black  as 
thunder.  Supper  handsome.  Back  Delmonico  to  beat  ^  it. 
Champagne  so  so.  By  the  way,  the  young  fellow  who  writes 
here  for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  got  too  much  of  the  champagne 
on  board — as  usual,  I  am  told.  The  Honorable  R.  Twrsden,  of 
London,  was  rude  to  my  young  chap's  partner,  or  winked  at  him 
offensively,  or  trod  on  his  toe,  or  I  don't  know  what — but  young 
F.  followed  him  into  the  garden  ;  hit  out  at  him  :  sent  him  fly- 
ing, like  a  spread  eagle,  into  the  midst  of  an  illumination,  and 
left  him  there  sprawling.  Wild,  rampageous  fellow,  this  young 
F. ;  has  already  spent  his  own  fortune,  and  ruined  bis  poor  old 
father,  who  has  been  forced  to  cross  the  water.  Old  Loaiis  Phi- 
lippe went  away  early.  He  talked  iong  with  our  minister  about 
his  travels  in  our  country.  I  was  standing  by,  but  in  course  ain't 
so  ill-bred  as  to  say  what  passed  between  them." 

This  is  the  way  histo;y  is  written.  I  dare  say  about  others 
besides  Philip,  in  English  papers  as  well  as  American,  have  fables 
been  narrated. 


294  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 


CHAPTER  XXV J. 


CONTAINS    A    TUG    OF    WAR. 


'  Who  was  the  first  to  spread  the  report  that  Philip  was  a  prodi- 
gal who  had  ruined  his  poor  confiding  father  ?  •  I  thought  I  knew 
a  person  who  might  be  interested  in  getting  under  any  shelter, 
and  sacrifice  even  his  own  son  for  his  own  advantage.  I  thought 
1  knew  a  man  who  had  done  as  much  already,  and  surely  might 
do  so  again  ;  but  my  wife  flew  into  one  of  her  tempests  of  indig- 
nation when  I  hinted  something  of  this,  clutched  her  own  chil- 
dren to  her  heart,  according  to  her  maternal  wont,  asked  me  was 
there  any  power  would  cause  me  to  belie  them  ?  and  sternly  re- 
buked me  for  daring  to  be  so  wicked,  heartless,  and  cynical.  My 
dear  creature,  wrath  is  no  answer.  You  will  call  me  heartless 
and  cynic  for  saying  men  are  false  and  wicked.  'Have  you  never 
heard  to  what  lengths  some  bankrupts  will  go?  To  appease  the 
wolves  who  chase  them  in  the  winter  forest,  have  you  not  read 
how  some  travellers  will  cast  all  their  provisions  out  of  the  sledge? 
Then,  when  all  the  provisions  are  gone,  don't  you  know  that 
they  will  fling  out  perhaps  the  sister,  perhaps  the  mother,  per- 
haps the  baby,  the  little,  dear,  tender  innocent  V  Don't  you  see 
him  tumbling  among  the  howling  pack,  and  the  wolves  gnash- 
ing, gnawing,  crashing,  gobbling  him  up  in  the  snow  ?  Oh,  hor- 
ror, horror !  My  wife  clutches  all  the  young  ones  to  her  breast 
<is  I  utter  these  fiendish  remarks.  She'  hugs  them  in  her  em- 
brace, and  says,  "  For  shame  !"  and  that  I  am  a  monster,  and  so 
-  on.  Go  to.  Go  down  on  your  knees,  woman,  and  acknowledge 
the  sinfulness  of  our  human  kind.  How  long  had  our  race  ex- 
isted ere  murder  and  violence  began  ?  and  how  old  was  the  world 
ere  brother  slew  brother  ? 

Well,  my  wife  and  I  camctoa  compromise.  I  might  have  my 
opinion,  but  was  there  any  need  to  communicate  it  to  poor  Phi- 
lip ?  No,  surely.  So  I  never  sent  him  the  extract  from  the 
New  York  Emerald;  though,  of  course,  some  other  good-na- 
tured frie*nd  did,  and  I  don't  think  my  magnanimous  friend  cared 
much.  As  for  supposing  that  his  own  father,  to  cover  his  own 
character,  would  lie  away  his  son's — such  a  piece  of  artifice  was 
quite  beyond  Philip's  comprehension,  who  has  been  all  his  life 
slow  in  appreciating  roguery,  or  recognizing  that  there  is  mean- 
ness and  double-dealing' in  the  world.  When  he  once  comes  to 
understand  the  fact ;  when  he  once  comprehends  that  Tartuffe 
is  a  humbug  and  swelling  Bufo  is  a  toady,  then  my  friend  be- 
comes as  absurdly  indignant  and  mistrustful  as  before  he  was  ad- 
miring and  confiding.  Ah,  Philip!  Tartufie  has  a  number  of 
good,  respectable  qualities ;  and  Bulo,  though  an  underground 
envious  toady,  may  have  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head.  'Tia  you 
are  cynical.     /  see  the  good  qualities  in  these  rascals  whom  you 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  295 

spurn.     I  see.     I  shrug  my  shoulders.     I  smile:  and  you call  me 
cynic. 

It  was  long  before  Philip  could  comprehend  'why  Charlotte's 
mother  turned  upon  him,  and  tried  to  force  her  daughter  to  for- 
sake him.  "  I  have  offended  the  old  woman  in  a  hundred  ways," . 
he  would  say.  "  My  tobacco  annoys  her;  my  old  clothes  offend 
•her;  the  very  English  I  speak  is  often  Greek  to  her,  and  she 
can  no  more  eonstruemiy  sentences  than  I  can  the  Hindoostanee 
jargon  she  talks  to  her  husband  at  dinner.''  u  My  dear  fel- 
low, if  you  had  ten  thousand  a  year  she  would  try  and  construe 
your  sentences,  or  accept  them  even  if  not  understood,"  I  would 
reply.  And  some  men  whom  you  and  I  know  to  be  mean,  and 
to  be  false,  and  to  be  flatterers  and  parasites,  and  to  be  inexora- 
bly hard  and  cruel  in  their  own  private  circles,  will  surely  pull 
a  long  face  to-morrow,  and  say,  "  Oh  !  the  man  's  so  cynical." 

I  acquit  Baynes  of  what  ensued.  I  hold  Mrs.  B.  to  have  been 
the  criminal,  the  stupid  criminal.  The  husband,  like  many  oth- 
er men  extremely  brave  in  active  life,  was  at  home  timid  and  ir- 
resolute. Of  two  heads  that  lie  side  by  side  on  the  same  pillow 
for  thirty  years,  one  must  contain  the  stronger  power,  the  more 
enduring  resolution.  Baynes,  away  from  his  wife,  was  shrewd, 
courageous,  gay  at  times;  when  with  her  he  was  fascinated,  torpid 
under  the  power  of  this  baleful  superior  creature.  "Ah,  when 
we  were  subs  together  in  camp  in  1803,  what  a  lively  fellow 
Charley  Baynes  was  !"  his  comrade,  Colonel  Bunch,  would  say. 
That  was  before  he  ever  saw  his  wife's  yellow  face,  and  whar  a 
slave  she  has  made  of  him  ! 

After  that  fatal  conversation  which  ensued  on  the  day  suc- 
ceeding the  ball,  Philip  did  not  come  to  dinner  at  madame's,  ac- 
cording to  his  custom.  Mrs.  Baynes  told  no  family  stories,  and 
Colonel  Bunch,  whohad  no  special  likingfortheyoung  gentleman, 
did  not  trouble  himself  to  make  any  inquiries  about  him.  One, 
two,  three  days  passed,  and  no  Philip.  At  last  the  colonel  says 
to  the  general,  with  a  sly  look  at  Charlotte,  "Baynes,  where  is 
our  young  friend  with  the  mustaches?  We  have" not  seen  him 
these  three  days."  And  he  gives  an  arch  look  at  poor  Charlotte. 
A  burning  blush  flamed  up  in  little  Charlotte's  pale  face  as  she 
looked  at  her  parents  and  then  at  their  old  friend.  "Mr.  Fir- 
min  does  not  come  because  papa  and  mamma  have  forbidden 
him,"  says  Charlotte.  "]  suppose  he  only  comes  where  he  is 
welcome."  And  having  made  this  audacious  speech,  I  suppose 
the  little  maid  tossed  her  little,  head  up,  and  wondered,  in  the 
silence  which  ensued,  whether  all  the  company  could  hear  her 
heart   thumping. 

Madam*',  from  her  central  place  where  she  is  carving  sees, 
from  the  looks  of  her  guests,  the  indignant  fluShes  on  Charlotte's 
face,  the  confusion  on  her  father's,  the  wrath  on  Mrs.  Baynes'-, 
that  some  dreadful  words  are  passing,  and  in  vain  endeavors  to 


296  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

turn  the  angry  current  of  talk.  "  Un  petit  canard  delicieux,  gout- 
ez-en,  madame  ! '  she  cries.  Honest  Colonel  Bunch  sees  the  lit- 
tle maid  with  eyes  flashing  with  anger,  and  trembling  in  every 
limb.  The  offered  duck  having  failed  to  create  a  diversion,  he 
too  tries  a  feeble  commonplace.  "  A  little  difference,  my  dear," 
he  says,  in  an  under  voice.  "  There  will  be  such  iu  the  best- 
regulated  families.  Canard  sauvage  tres  hong,  madame,  avec  ...."• 
but  he  is  allowed  to.  speak  no  more,  for.  . ; . 

"  What  would  you  do,  Colonel  Bunch,"  little  Charlotte  breaks 
out  with  her  poor  little  ringing,  trembling  voice — "  that  is,  if 
you  were  a  young  man,  if  another  young  man  struck  you  and 
insulted  you  ?"  I  say  she  utters  this  in  such  a  clear  voice  that 
Madeleine  the  femme  de  chambre,  that  Joseph  the  footman,  that 
all  the  guests  hear*  that  all  the  knives  and  forks  stop  their  clat- 
ter. 

"  Faith,  my  dear,  I  'd  knock  him  down  if  I  could,"  says  Bunch  ; 
and  he  catches  hold  of  the  little  maid's  sleeve,  and  would  stop 
her  speaking  if  he  could. 

"  And  that  is  what  Philip  did,"  cries  Charlotte,  aloud  ;  "  and 
mamma  has  turned  him  out  of  the  house — -yes,  out  of  the  house 
for  acting  like  a  man  of  honor !" 

"  Go  to  your  room  this  instant,  Miss  !"  shrieks  mamma.  As 
for  old  Baynes,  his  stained  old  uniform  is  not  more  dingy-red 
than  his  wrinkled  face  and  his  throbbing  temples.  He  blushes 
under  his  wig,  no  doubt,  could  we  see  beneath  that  ancient  arti- 
fice. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Madam  your  mother  dismisses  you  of  my  table  V 
I  will  come  with  you,  my  dear  Miss  Charlotte  1"  says  madame,  with 
much  dignity.  "  Serve  the  sugared  plate,  Joseph  !  My  ladies,  you 
will  excuse  me !  I  go  to  attend  the  dear  miss  who  seems  to  me  ill." 
And  she  rises  up,  and  she  follows  poor  little,  blushing,  burning, 
weeping  Charlotte  ;  and  again,  I  have  no  doubt,  takes  her  in  her 
arms,  and  kisses,  and  cheers,  and  caresses  her — at  the  threshold  of 
the  door — there  by  the/staircase,  among  the  cold  dishes  of  the  din- 
ner, where  Moira  and  Macgrigor  had  one  moment  before  been 
marauding. 

"Courage,  ma jille — courage,  mon  enfant!  Tenez!  Behold 
something  to  console  thee  !"  and  madame  takes  out  of  her  pock- 
et a  little  letter  and  gives  it  to  the  girl,  who  at  sight  of  it  kisses 
the  superscription,  and  then  in  an  anguish  of  love,  and  joy,  and 
grief,  falls  on  the  neck  of  the  kind  woman,  who  consoles  her  in 
her  misery.  Whose  writing  is  it' Charlotte  kisses?  Can  you 
guess  by  any  means  V  Upon  my  word,  Madame  Smolensk,  I 
never  recommend  ladies  to  take  daughters  to  your  boarding- 
house.  And  I  like  you  so  much,  I  would  not  tell  of  you,-  but  you 
know  the  house  shut  up  this  many  a  long  day.  Oh  !  the  years 
slip  away  fugacious;  and  the  grass  has  grown  over  graves;  and 
many  and  many  joys  and  sorrows  have  been  born  and  have  died 


P,:8 


*■*>> 
;\'> 


COMFOffT  /N    G-  /?  /  £  f 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THIS    WORLD.  2D 7 

since  then  for  Charlotte  and  Philip ;  but  that  grief  aches  still 
in  their  bosoms  at  times ;  and  that  sorrow  throbs  at  Charlotte's 
heart  again  whenever  she  looks  at  a  little  yellow  letter  in  her 
trinket-box  ;  and  she  says  to  her  children,  "Papa  wrote  that  to 
me  before  we  were  married,  my  dears."  There  are  scarcely 
half  a  dozen  words  in  the  little  letter,  I  believe,  and  two  of  them 
are  "  for  ever." 

I  could  draw  a  ground-plan  of  madame's  house  in  the  Champs 
ElyseVs  if  I  liked,  for  has  not  Philip  shown  me  the  place  and 
described  it  to  me  many  times?  In  front,  and  facing  the  road 
and  garden,  were  madame's  room  and  the  salon  ;  to  the  back 
was  the  salle-;Y manger ;  and  a  stair  ran  up  the  house  (where  the 
.dishes  used  to  be  laid  during  dinner-time,  and  where  Moira  and 
Macgrigor  fingered  the  meals  and  puddings). 

Mrs.  General  Baylies'  rooms  were  on  the  third  floor,  looking 
on  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  into  the  garden-court  of  the  house 
below.  And  on  this  day,  as  the  dinner  was  necessarily  short 
(owing  to  unhappy  circumstances),  and  the  gentlemen  were  left 
alone  glumly  drinking  their  wine  or  grog,  and  Mrs.  Baynes  had 
gone  up  stairs  to  her  own  apartment,  had  slapped  her  boys  and 
was  looking  out  of  the  window,  was  it  not  provoking  that  of  all 
days  in  the  world  young  Hely  should  ride  up  to  the  house  on  his 
capering  mare,  wiih  his  flower  in  his  button-hole,  with  his  little 
varnished  toe-tips  just  touching  his  stirrups,  and,  after  perform- 
ing various  caracolades  and  gambadoes  in  the  garden,  kiss  his 
yellow-kidded  hand  to  Mrs.  General  Baynes  at  the  window,  hope 
Miss  Baynes  was  quite  well,  and  ask  if  he  might  come  in  and 
take  _a  cup  of  tea  ?  Charlotte,  lying  on  madame's  bed  in  the 
ground-floor  room,  heard  Mr.  Hely's  sweet  voice  asking  after 
her  health,  and  the  crunching  of  his  horde's  hoofs  on  the  gravel, 
and  she  could  even  catch  gjimpses  of  that  little  form  as  the 
horse  capered  abon.5  in  the  court,  though  of  course  he  could  not 
see  her  where  she  was  lying  on  the  bed  with  her  letter  in  her 
hand.  Mrs.  Baynes  at  her  window  had  to  wag  her  withered 
head  from  her  window,  to  groan  out  "  My  daughter  is  lying  down, 
and  has  a  bad  headache,  1  am  sorry  to  say ;"  and  then  she  mush 
have  had  the  mortification  to  see  Hely  caper  off,  after  waving 
her  a  genteel  adieu.  The  ladies  in  the  front  saloon,  who  assem- 
bled after  dinner,  witnessed  the  transaction  ;  and  Mrs.  Bunch, 
1  dare  say,  had  a  grim  pleasure  at  seeing  Eliza  Baynes'  young 
sprig  of  fashion,  of  whom  Eliza  was  for  ever  bragging,  come  at 
last,  and  obliged  to  ride  away,  not  bootless,  certainly,  for  where 
were  feet  more  beautifully  chausees  ?  but  after  a  bootless  errand. 

Meanwhile  the  gentlemen  sate  a  while  in  the  dining-room, 
after  the  British  custom  which  such  veterans  liked  too  well  to 
give  up.  Other  two  gentlemen  boarders  went  away,  rather 
alarmed  by  that  storm  and  outbreak  in  which  Charlotte  had 
quitted  the  dinner-table,  and  left  the  old  yoldiera  together,  to  en- 
26 


29$  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

joy,  as  was  their  after-dinner  custom,  a  sober  glass  of  "  something 
hot,"  as  the  saying  is.  In  truth,  madame's  wine  was  of  the  poor- 
est ;  but  what  better  could  you  expect  for  the  money  ? 

Baynes  was  not  eager  to  be  alone  with  Bunch,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  began  to  blush  again  when  he  found  himself  tete-a-tete  with 
his  old  friend.  But  what  was  to  be  done  ?  The  general  did  not 
dare  to  go  up  stairs  to  his  own  quarters,  where  poor  Charlotte 
was  probably  crying,  and  her  mother  in  one  of  her  tantrums. 
Then  in  the  salon  there  were  the  ladies  of  the  boarding-house 
party,  and  there  Mrs.  Bunch  would  be  sure  to  be  at  him.  In- 
deed, since  the  Bayneses  were  launched  in  the  great  world,  Mrs. 
Bunch  was  untiringly  sarcastic  in  "her  remarks  about  lords, 
ladies,  attaches,  embassadors,  and  fine  people  in  general.  80 
Baynes  sate  with  his  friend,  in  the  falling  evening,  in  much 
silence,  dipping  his  old  nose  in  the  brandy-and-water. 

Little*  square-faced,  red-faced,  whisker-dyed  Colonel  Bunch 
sate  opposite  his  old  companion,  regarding  him  not  without 
scorn.  Bunch  had  ■&  wife.  Bunch  had  feelings.  Do  you  sup- 
pose those  feelings  had  not  been  worked  upon  by  that  wife  in 
private  colloquies  ?  Do  you  suppose — when  two  olcl  women 
have  lived  together  in  pretty  much  the  same  rank  of  life — if  one 
suddenly  gets  promotion,  is  carried  off  to  higher  spheres,  and 
talks  of  her  new  friends,  the  countesses,  duchesses,  embassadress- 
es,  as  of  course  she  will — do  you  suppose,  I  say,  that  the  unsuc- 
cessful woman  will  be  pleased  at  the  successful  woman's  success? 
Your  knowledge  of  your  own  heart,  my  dear  lady,  must  tell  you 
the  truth  in  this  matter.  I  don't  want  you  to  acknowledge  that 
you  are  angry  because  your  sister  has  been  staying  with  the 
Duchess  of  Fitzbattleaxe ;  but  you  are,  you  know.  You  have 
made  sneering  remarks  to  your  husband  on  the  subject,  and  such 
remarks,  I  have  no  doubfr,  were  made  by  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch  to 
her  husband  regarding  her  poor  friend,  Mrs.  General  Baynes. 

During  this  parenthesis  we  have  left  the  general  dipping  his 
nose  in  the  brandy-and-water.  He  can't  keep  it  there  for  ever. 
He  must  come  up  for  air  presently.  His  face  must  come  out  of 
the  drink,  and  sigh  over  the  table. 

"  What's  this  business,  Baynes  ?"  says  the  colonel.  "  What  's 
the  matter  with  poor  Charley  ?" 

"  Family  affairs  ;  differences  will  happen,"  says  the  general. 

"  I  do  hope  and  trust  nothing  has  gone  wrong  with  her  and 
young  Firmin,  Baynes  ?" 

The  general  does  not  like  those  fixed  eyes  staring  at  him 
under  those  bushy  eyebrows,  between  those  bushy  blackened 
whiskers. 

"Well  then,  yes,  Bunch,  something  has  gone  wrong;  and 
given  me  and— and  Mrs.  Baynes— a  deuced  deal  of  pain  too. 
The  young  fellow  has  acted  like  a  blackguard,  brawling  and 
fighting   in  an  embassador's  ball,  bringing  us  all   to   ridicule. 


ON   HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  299 

He  's  not  a  gentleman ;  that's  the  long  and  short  of  it,  Bunch, 
and  so  let  s  change  the  subject." 

"  Why,  consider  the  provocation  he  had  !"  cries  the  other,  dis- 
regarding entirely  his  friend's  prayer.  "I  heard  them  talkmg 
about  the  business  at  Galignanis  this  very  day.  A  fellow  swears 
at  Firmin ;  runs  at  him;  brags  that  he  has  pitched  him  over; 
and  is  knocked  down  for  his  pains.  By  George !  I  think  Fir- 
min was  quite  right.  Were  any  man  to  do  as  much  to  me  or 
you,  what  should  we  do,  even  at  our  age  V" 

►     "  We  are  military  men.    I  said  I  did  n't  wish  to  talk  about  the 
subject,  Bunch,"  says  the  general,  in  rather  a  lofty  manner. 

**  You  mean  that  Tom  Bunch  has  no  need  to  put  his  oar  in  V" 

"  Precisely  so,"  says  the  other,  curtly. 

"  Mum  's  the  word  !  Let  us  talk  about  the  dukes  and  duchess- 
es  of  the  ball.  That 's  more  in  your  line,  now,"  says  the  colonel, 
with  rather  a  sneer. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  duchesses  and  dukes  ?  What  do 
you  know  about  them,  or  what  the  deuce  do  I  care?"  asks  the 
general. 

"  Oh,  they  are  tabooed  too !  Hang  it,  there  's  no  satisfying 
you,"  growls»  the  colonel. 

"  Look  here,  Bunch,"  the  general  broke  out,  "  I  must  speak, 
since  you  won't  leave  me  alone.  I  am  unhappy.  You  can  see 
that  well  enough.  For  two  or  three  nights  past  I  have  had  no 
rest.  This  engagement  of  my  child  and  Mr.  Firmin  can't  come 
to  any  good.  You  see  what  he  is,  an  overbearing,  ill-conditioned, 
quarrelsome  fellow.  What  chance  has  Charley  of  being  happy 
with  such  a  fellow  ?"  f 

u  I  hold  my  tongue,  Baynes.  Yrou  told  me  not  to  put  my  oar 
in,"  growls  the  colonel. 

"  Oh,  if  that's  the  way  you  take  it,  Bunch,  of  course  there  's 
no  need  for  me  to  go  on  any  more,"  cries  General  Baynes*  "  If 
an  old  friend  won't  give  au  old  friend  advice,  by  George,  or  help 
him  in  a  start,  or  say  a  kind  word  when  he  is  unhappy,  I  have 
done.  I  have  known  you  for  forty  years,  and  I  am  mistaken  in 
you,  that  's  all.*' 

"  There  's  no  contenting  you.  You  say,  Hold  your  tongue, 
and  I  shut  my  mouth.  1  hold  my  tongue,  and  you  say,  Why 
don't  you  speak  V  Why  don't  I  ?  Because  you  won't  like  what 
I  say,  Charles  Baynes ;  and  so,  what 's  the  good  of  more  talk- 
ing ?" 

"  Confound  it,"  cries  Baynes,  with  a  thump  of  his  glass  on  the 
table,  "-but  what  do  you  say  ?" 

"  I  say,  then,  as  you  will  have  it,"  cries  the  other,  clenching 
his  fists  in  his  pockets,  "  I  say  you  are  wanting  a  pretext  for 
breaking  oil'  this  match,  Baynes.  I  don't  say  it  is  a  good  one, 
mind  ;  but  your  word  is  passed,  and  your  honor  engaged  to  a 
young  fellow  to  whom  you  arc  under  deep  obligation." 


300  THE    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

"  What  obligation  ?  Who  has  talked  to  you  about  my  private 
affairs  ?"  cries'  the  general,  reddening.  "  Has  Philip  Firrnin 
been  bragging  about  his ...  .  ?" 

"  You  have  yourself,  Baynes.  When  you  arrived  here,  you 
told  me  over  and  over  again  what  the  young  fellow  had  done  ; 
and  you  certainly  thought  he  acted  like  a  gentleman  then.  If 
you  choose  to  break  your  word  to  him  now .  . . . " 

"  Break  my  word !  Great  Powers,  do  you  If  now  what  you 
are  saying,  Bunch.  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  what  you  are  doing,  Baynes." 

u  Doing,  and  what  ?" 

«  A  d — : — d  shabby  action  ;  that  's  what  you  are  doing,  if 
you  want  to  know.  Don't  tell  me.  Why,  do  you  suppose  Fanny 
— do  you  suppose  everybody  does  n't  see  what  you  are  at  ? 
You  think  you  can  get  a  better  match  for  the  girl,  and  you  and 
Eliza  are  going  to  throw  the  young  fellow  over  ;  and  the  fellow 
who  held  his  hand,  and  might  have  ruined  you  if  he  liked.  -I 
say  it  is  a  cowardly  action  !" 

"  Colonel  Bunch,  do  you  dare  to  use  such  a  word  to  me  ?" 
calls  out  the  general,  starting*  to  his  feet. 

►    "Dare  be  hanged!   I  say  it's  a  shabby  action!"  roars   the 
other,  rising  too.  '■ 

"  Hush  !  unless  you  wisli  to  disturb  the  ladies  !  Of  course  you 
know  what  your  expression  means,  Colonel  Bunch  ?"  and  the 
general  drops  his  voice  and  sinks  back  to  his  chair. 

"  I  know  what  my  words  mean,  and  1  stick  to  'em,  Baynes," 
growls  the  other,  "  which  is  more  than  you  can  say  of  yours." 

"  I  am  deed  if  any  man  alive  shall  use  this  language  to  me," 
says  the  general  in  the  softest  whisper,  "  without  accounting  to 
me  first." 

u  Did  you  ever  find  me  backward,  Baynes,  at  that  kind  of 
thin<*  ?"  growls  the  colonel,  with  a  face  like  a  lobster  and  eyes 
starting  from  his  head. 

"  Very  good,  sir.  To-morrow,  at  your  earliest  convenience. 
I  shall  b,e  at  Galignani's  fronr  eleven  till  one." 

"  With  a  friend,  if  possible.  What  ia  it,  my  love  ?  A  game 
at  whist  ?  Well,  no,  thank  you ;  I  think  I  won't  play  cards 
to-night." 

It  was  Mrs.  Baynes  who  entered  the  room  when  the  two  gen- 
tlemen were  quarrelling ;  and  the  blood-thirsty  hypocrites  in- 
stantly smoothed  their  ruffled  brows  and  smiled  on  her  with 
perfect  courtesy. 

"  Whist,  no  !  I  was  thinking  should  we  send  out  to  meet  him. 
He  has  never  been  in-  Paris." 

"  Never  been  in  Paris !"  said  the  general,  puzzled. 

"  They  will  be  here  to-night,  you  know.  Madame  has  a  room 
ready  for  them." 

"  The  very  thing,  the  very  thing  !"  cries  General  Baynes,  with 


v)N    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  801 

great  glee.  And  Mrs.  Baynes,  all  unsuspicious  of  the  quarrel 
between  the  old  friends,  proceeds  to  inform  Colonel  Bunch  that 
her  sister  MacWhirter  and  the  major  were  expected  that  even- 
ing. And  then  that  tough  old  Colonel  Bunch  knew  the  cause  of 
Baynes'  delight.  A  second  was  provided  for  the  general — the 
very  thing  Baynes  wanted. 

We  have  seen  how  Mrs.  Baynes,  after  taking  counsel  with  her 
general,  had  privily  sent  for  MacWhirter.  Her  plan*  was  that 
Charlotte's  uncle  should  take  her  for  a  while  to  Tours,  and  make 
her  hear  reason.  Then  Charley's  foolish  passion  for  Philip  would 
pass  away.  Then,  if  he  dared  to  follow  her  so  far,  her  aunt  and 
uncle,  two  dragons  of  virtue  and  circumspection,  would  watch 
and  guard  her.  Then,  if  Mrs.  Ilely  was  still  of  the  same  mind, 
she  and  her  son  might  easily  take  the  post  to  Tours,  where, 
Philip  being  absent,  young  Walsingham  might  plead  his  passion. 
The  best  part  of  the  plan,  perhaps,  was  the  separation  of  our 
young  couple.  Charlotte  would  recover.  Mrs.  Baynes  was 
sure  of  that.  The  little  girl  had  made  no  outbreak  until  that 
sudden  insurrection  at  dinner  which  we  have  witnessed ;  and  her 
mother,  who  had  domineered  over  the  child  all  her  life,  thought 
she  was  still  in  her  power.  She  did  not  know  that  she  had 
passed  the  bounds  of  authority,  and  that  with  her  behavior  to 
Philip  her  child's  allegiance  had  revolted. 

Bunch,  then,  from  Baynes'  look  and  expression,  perfectly 
understood  what  his  adversary  meant,  and  that  the  general's 
second  was  found.  His  own  he  had  in  his  eye,  a  tough  little  old 
army  surgeon  of  Peninsular  and  Indian  times,  who  lived  hard 
by,  who  would  aid  as  second  and  doctor  too,  if  need  were — and 
so  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  as  they  say.  The  colonel  would 
go  forth  that  very  instant  and  seek  for  Dr,  Martin,  and  be 
hanged  to  Baynes,  and  a  plague  on  the  whole  transaction,  and 
the  folly  of  two  old  friends  burning  powder  in  such  a  quarrel. 
But  he  knew  what  a  blood-thirsty  little  fellow  that  hen-pecked, 
silent  Baynes  was  when  rouse*! ;  and  as  for  himself — a  fellow 
use  that  kind  of  language  to  me  ?  By  George,  Tom  Bunch  was 
not  going  to  balk  him ! 

Whose  was  that  tall  figure  prowling  about  madame's  house  in 
the  Champs  Elysees  when  Colonel  Bunch  issued  forth  in  quest  of 
his  friend  '?  Who  had  been  watched  by  the  police  and  mistaken 
for  a  suspicious  character  ?  Who  had  been  looking  up  at 
madame's  windows  now  that  the  evening  shades  had  fallen  ?  O 
you  goose  of  a  Philip  !  (for,  of  course,  my  dears,  you  guess  the 
spy  was  P.  F.,  Esq.)  you  look  up  at  the  premier,  and  there  is  the 
Beloved  in  madame's  room  on  the  ground- floor  ;  in  yonder  room, 
where  a  lamp  is  burning  and  casting  a  faint  light  across  the  bars 
of  the  jalousie.  If  Philip  knew  she  was  there  he  would  be 
transformed  into  a  clematis,  and  climb  up  the  bars  of  the  win- 
dow, and  twine  round  them  all  night-     But  you  see  he  thinks  she 


302  THE    ADVENTURES    OP    PHILIP 

is  on  the  first  floor ;  and  the  glances  of  his  passionate  eyes  are 
taking  aim  at  the  wrong  windows.  And  now  Colonel  Bunch 
comes  forth  in  his  stout  strutting  way"  in  his  little^  military  cape 
— quick-march — and  Philip  is  startled  like  a  guilty  thing  sur- 
prised, and  dodges  behind  a  tree  in  the  avenue. 

The  colonel  departed  on  his  murderous  errand.  Philip  still 
continues  to  ogle  the  window  of  his  heart  (the  wrong  window) 
defiant  of  the  policeman  who  tells  him  to  circuler.  He  has  not 
watched  here  many  minutes  more  ere  a  hackney-coach  drives  up 
with  portmanteaus  on  the  roof  and  a  lady  and  gentleman  within. 

You  see  Mrs.  MacWhirter  thought  she  as  well  as  her  husband 
might  have  a  peep  at  Paris.  As  Mac's  coach-hire  was  paid,  Mrs 
Mac  could  afford  a  little  outlay  of  money.  And  if  they  were 
to  bring  Charlotte  back — Charlotte  in  grief  and  agitation,  poor 
child — a  matron,  an  aunt,  would  be  a  much  fitter  companion  for 
her  than  a  major,  however  gentle.  So  the  pair  of  MacWhirters 
journeyed  from  Tours — a  long  journey  it  was  before  railways 
were  invented — and  after  four-and-twenty  hours  of  squeeze  in  the 
diligence,  presented  themselves  at  nightfall  at  Madame  Smo- 
lensk's. 

The  Baynes'  boys  dashed  into  the  garden  at  the  sound  of 
wheels.  "  Mamma,  mamma  !  it 's  Uncle  Mac  !"  these  innocents 
cried,  as  they  ran  to  the  railings.  "  Uncle  Mac  !  what  could 
bring  him  ?  Oh,  they  are  going  to  send  me  to  him  !  they  are 
going  to  send  me  to  him  !"  thought  Charlotte,  starting  on  her 
bed.  And  on  this,  I  dare  say,  a  certain  locket  was  kissed  more 
vehemently  than  ever. 

"  I  say,  ma  !"  cries  the  ingenuous  Moira,  jumping  back  to  the 
house  ;  it 's  Uncle  Mac  and  Aunt  Mac,  too !" 

"  What!"  cries  mamma,  with  anything  but  pleasure  in  her 
voice ;  and  then  turning  to  the  dining-room,  where  her  husband 
still  sate,  she  called  out,  "  General !  here  's  MacWhirter  and 
Emily  !" 

Mrs.  Baynes  gave  her  sister  a^very  grim  kiss. 

"  Dearest  Eliza,  I  thought  it  was  such  a  good  opportunity  of 
coming,  and  that  I  might  be  so  useful,  you  know  !"  pleads  Emily. 

"  Thank  you.  How  do  you  do,  MacWhirter  ?"  says  the  grim 
g£n£rale.  * 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Mac,  my  boy  !  How  d  'ye  do,  Emily  ? 
Boys,  bring  your  uncle's  traps.  Did  n't  know  Emily  was 
coming,  Mac ;  hope  there  's  room  for  her  I"  sighs  the  general, 
coming  forth  from  his  parlor. 

The  major  was  struck  by  the  sad  looks  and  pallor  of  his 
brother-in-law.  "  By  George  !  Baynes,  you  look  as  yellow  as  a 
guinea.     How  's  Tom  Bunch  ?" 

"  Come  into  this  room  along  with  me.  Have  some  brandy- 
and- water,  Mac  ? — Joseph  !  0  de  vie,  Osho  /"  calls  the  general ; 
and  Joseph,  who  out  of  the  new-comer's  six  packages  has  dain- 


ON    HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  303 

tily  taken  one  very  small  Macintosh  cushion,  says,  "  Comment? 
encore  du  grog,  ge'ne'ral?"  and,  shrugging  his  shoulder^,  disap- 
pears to  procure  the  refreshment  at  his  leisure. 

The  sisters  disappear  to  their  embraces ;  the  brothers-in-law 
retreat  to  the  salle-a-manger,  where  General  Baynes  has  been 
sitting,  gloomy  and  lonely,  for  half  an  hour  past,  thinking  of 
his  quarrel  with  his  old  comrade,  Bunch.  He  and  Bunch  have 
been  chums  for  more  than  forty  years.  They  have  been  in 
action  together,  and  honorably  mentioned  in  the  same  report. 
They  have  had  a  great  regard  for  each  other;  and  each  knows 
the  other  is  an  obstinate  old  mule,  and  in  a  dispute  will  die  rather 
than  give  way.  They  have  had  a  dispute  out  of  which  there  is 
only  one  issue.  Words  have  passed  which  no  man,  however 
old,  by  George  !  can  brook  from  any  friend,  however  intimate, 
by  Jove!  No  wonder  Baynes  is  grave.  His  family  is  large; 
his  means  are  small.  To-morrow  he  may  be  under  fire  of  an 
old  friend's  pistol.  In  such  an  extremity  he  knows  how  each 
will  behave.     No,  wonder,  I  say,  the  general  is  solemn. 

"  What 's  in  the  wind  now,  Baynes  V"  asks  the  major,  after  a 
little  drink  and  a  long  silence.     "  How  is  poor  little  Char  V 

"  Infernally  ill — I  mean  behaved  infernally  ill,"  says  the 
general,  biting  his  lips. 

"  Bad  business  !  Bad  business  !  Poor  little  child!''  cries  the 
major. 

"  Insubordinate  little  devil !"  says  the  pale  general,  grinding 
his  teeth.     "  We  '11  see  which  shall  be  master  !"  0 

"  What,  you  have  had  words  ?" 

"At  this  table,  this  very  day.  She  sat  here  and  defied  her 
mother  and  me,  by  George,  and  liung  out  of  the  room  like  a 
tragedy  queen.  She  must  be  tamed,  Mac,  or  my  name  's  not 
Baynes." 

Mac  knew  his  relative  of  old,  and  that  this  quiet,  submissive 
man,  when  angry,  worked  up  to  a  white  heat  as  it  were.  "  Sad 
affair,  hope  you  '11  both  come  round,  Baynes,"  sighs  the  major, 
trying  bootless  commonplaces;  and  seeing  this  last  remark  had 
no  effect,  he  bethought  him  of  recurring  to  their  mutual  friend. 
".  How  's  Tom  Bunch  V"  the  major  asked,  charily. 

At  this  question  Baynes  grinned  in  such  a -ghastly  way  that 
MacWhirter  eyed  him  with  wonder.  "  Colonel  Bunch  is  very 
well,"  the  general  said,  in  a  dismal  voice  ;  "  at  least,  he  was  half 
an  hour  ago.  He  was  sitting  there  ;"  and  he  pointe'd  to  an  empty 
spoon  lying  in  an  empty  beaker,  whence  the  spirit  and  water 
had  departed. 

"  What  has  been  the  matter,  Buy.nes  ?"  asked  the  major. 
"  Has  anything  happened  between  you  and  Tom  ?" 

"  I  mean  that,  half  an  hour  ago,  Colonel  Bunch  used  words  to 
me  which  I  '11  bear  from  no  man  alive;  and  you  have  arrived 
just  in  the  nick  of  time,  MacWhirter,  to  take  my  message  to 
him.     Hush  !  here  's  the  drink." 


304  THE    ADVENTURES    i)V    PHILIP 

u  Void,  Messieui's  /"    Joseph   at  length   has   brought   up  a 
second  supply -of  brandy-and- water.    The  veterans  mingled  their 
jorums ;  and  while  his  brother-in-law  spoke,  the  alarmed  Mac- 
Whirter  sipped  occasionally,  intentus  que  ora  tenebat. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

I  CHARGE  YOU,  DROP  YOUR  DAGGERS. 

General  Baynes  began  the  story  which  you  and  I  have  heard 
at  length.  He  told  it  in  his  own  way.  He  grew  very  angry 
with  himself  while  defending  himself.  He  had  to  abuse  Philip 
very  fiercely,  in  order  to  excuse  his  own  act  of  treason.  He 
had  to  show  that  his  act  was  not  his  act ;  that,  after  all,  he  never 
had  promised  ;  and  that,  if  he  had  promised,  Philip's  atrocious 
conduct  ought  to  absolve  him  from  any  previous  promise.  I  do 
not  wonder  that  the  general  was  abusive  and  <~>ut  of  temper. 
Such  a  crime  as  he  was  committing  can't  be  performed  cheer- 
fully by  a  man  who  is  habitually  gentle,  generous,  and  honest. 
I  do  not  say  that  men  can  not  cheat,  can  not  lie,  can  not  inflict 
torture,  can  not  commit  rascally  actions,  without  in  the  least 
losing  their  equanimity  ;  but  these  are  men  habitually  false, 
knavish,  and  cruel.  They  are  accustomed  to  break  their  prom- 
ises, to  cheat  their  neighbors  in  bargains,  and  what  not.  A 
roguiskword  or  action  more  or  less  is  of  little  matter  to  them  ; 
their  remorse  only  awakens  after  detection,  and  they  don't 
begin  to  repent  till  they  come  sentenced  out  of  the  dock.  But 
here  was  an  ordinarily  just  man  withdrawing  from  his  promise, 
turning  his  back  on  his  benefactor,  and  justifying  himself  to  him- 
self by  maligning  the  man  whom  he  injured.  It  is  not  an  un- 
common event,  my  dearly  beloved  brethren  and  esteemed  mis- 
erable sister  sinners  ;  but  you  like  to  say  a  preacher  is  "cynical" 
who*admits  this  sad  truth — and,  perhaps,  don't  care  to  hear  about 
the  subject  on  more  than  one  day  in  the  week. 

So,  in  order  td  make  out  some  sort  of  case  for  himself,  our  poor 
good  old  General  Baynes  chose  to  think  and  declare  that  Philip 
was  so  violent,  ill-conditioned,  and  abandoned  a  fellow,  that  no 
faith  ought  to  be  kept  with  him  ;  and  that  Colonel  Bunch  had  be- 
haved with  such  brutal  insolence  that  Baynes  must  call  him  to 
account.  As  for  the  fact  that  there  was  another,  a  richer,  and  a 
much  more  eligible  suitor,  who  was  likely  to  offer  for  his  daugh- 
ter, Baynes  did  not  happen  to  touch  on  this  pcint  at  all ;  prefer- 
ring to  speak  of  Philip's  hopeless  poverty,  disreputable  conduct, 
and  gross  and  careless  behavior. 

Now  MacWhirter  having,  I  suppose,  little  to  do  at  Tours,  had 
read  Mrs.  Baynes'  letters  to  her  sister  Emily,  and  remembered 
them.     Indeed,  it  was  but  very  few  months  since  Eliza  Baynes' 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WOULD.  305 

letters  had  been  full  of  praise  of  Philip,  of  his  love  for  Charlotte, 
and  of  his  noble  generosity  in  foregoing  the  great  claim  which  he 
bad  upon  the  general,  his  mother's  careless  trustee.  Philip  was 
the  first  suitor  Charlotte  had  had  :  in  her  first  glow  of  pleasure, 
Charlotte's  mother  had  covered  yards  of  paper  with  compliments, 
interjections,  and  those  scratches  or  dashes  under  her  words  by 
which  some  ladies  a?e  ac.ustomed  to  point  their  satire  or  empha- 
size their  delight  He  was  an  admirable  young  man — wild,  but 
generous,  handsome,  noble !  He  had  forgiven  his  father  thousands 
and  thousands  of  pounds  which  the  doctor  owed  him — all  his 
mother's  fortune  ;  and  he  had  acted  most  hobhjhy  her  trustees — 
that  she  must  say,  though  poor  dear  weak  Baynes  was  one 
of  them  !  Baynes,  who  was  as  simple  as  a  child.  Major  Mae  and 
his  wife  had  agreed  that  Philip's  forbearance  was  very  generous 
and  kind,  but  after  all  that  there  was  no  special  cause  for  rapture 
at  the  notion  of  their  niece  marrying  a  struggling  youii£  fellow 
without  a  penny  in  the  world;  and  they  had  been  not  a  little 
amused  with  the  change  of  tone  in  Eliza's  later  letters,  when  she 
began  to  go  out  in  the  great  world,  and  to  look  coldly  upo  i  poor, 
penniless  Firniin,  her  hero  of  a  few  months  since.  Then  Emily 
remembered  how  Eliza  had  always  been  fond  of  gnat  people; 
how  her  head  was  turned  by  going  to  a  few  parties  at  Govern- 
ment House  ;  how  absurdly  she  went  on  with  that  little  creature 
Fitzriekeis  (because  he  was  an  Honorable,  forsooth)  al*l)umdum. 
Eliza  was  a  good  wife  to  Baynes  ;  a  good  mother  to  the  children  ; 
and  made,  both  ends  of  a  narrow  income  meet  with  surprising  dex- 
terity ;  but  Emily  was  bound  to  say  of  her  sister  Eliza,  that 
a  more,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  And  when  the  news  came  at  length  that 
Philip  was  to  be  thrown  overboard,  Emily  clapped  her  hands  to- 
gether, and  said  to  her  husband,  "  Now,  Mac,  did  n't  I  always  tell 
you  so  V  If  she  coul  s  get  a  fashionable  husband  for  Charlotte,  I 
knew  my  sister  would  put  the  doctor's  son  to  the  ojoor  !"  That  the 
poor  child  would  sutler  considerably,  her  annt  was  assured.  In- 
deed, before  her  own  union  with  Mae,  Emily  had  undergone 
heart-breakings  and  pangs  of  separation  on  her  own  account. 
The  poorehild  wanted  comfort,  and  companionship.  She  would  go 
to  fetch  her  nieee.  And  though  the  major  said,  "My  dear,  you 
Want  to  go  to  Paris  and  buy  a  new  bonnet,"  Mrs.  MacWhirter 
spurned  the  insinuation,  and  came  to  Paris  from  a  mere  sense  of 
duty. 

So  Baynes  poured  out  his  history  of  wrongs  to  his  brother-in- 
law,  who  marvelled  to  hear  a  man,  ordinarily  chary  of  words  and 
cool  of  demeanor,  so  angry  and  so  voluble,  li  he  had  done  a  bad 
action,  at  least,  after  doing  it,  Baynes  had  the  grace  to  be  very 
much  out  of  humor..  If  J  ever,  for  my  part,  do  anything  wrong 
in  my  family,,  or  to  them,  I  accompany  that  action  with  a  furious 
rage  and  blustering  passion.     I  won't  have  wife  or  children  ques- 


306  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

tion  it.  No  querulous  Nathan  of  a  family  friend  (or  an  incom- 
modious conscience,  maybe)  shall  come  and  lecture*  me  about  my 
ill-doings.  No — no.  Out  of  the  house  with  him  !  Away,  you 
preaching  bugbear,  don't  try  to  frighten  me  !  Baynes,  I  suspect, 
to  brow-beat,  bully,  and  out-talk  the  Nathan  pleading  in  his 
heart — Baynes  will  outbawl  that  prating  monitor,  and  thrust 
that  inconvenient  preacher  out  of  sight,  oyt  of  hearing,  drive 
him  with  angry  words  from  our  gate.  Ah  !  in  vain  we  expel 
him;  and  bid  John  say,  not  at  home!  There  he  is  when  we 
wake,  sitting  at  our  bed-foot.  We  throw  him  overboard  for 
daring  to  put  an  oar  in  our  boat.  Whose  ghastly  head  is  that 
looking  up  from  the  water  and  swimming  alongside  us,  row  we 
never  so  swiftly  ?  Fire  at  him.  Brain  him  with  an  oar,  one  of 
you,  and  pull  on  !  Flash  goes  the  pistol.  Surely  that  oar  has 
stove  the  old  skull  in  V  See !  there  comes  the  awful  companion  ' 
popping  up  out  of  water  again,  and  crying,  "  Remember,  remem- 
ber, I  am  here,  I  am  here  !"  Baynes  had  thought  to  bully  away 
one  monitor  by  the  threat  of  a  pistol,  and  here  was  another 
swimming  alongside  of  his  boat.  And  would  you  have  it  other- 
wise, my  dear  reader,  for  you,  for  me  V  That  you  and  I  shall 
commit  sins  in  this  and  ensuing  years  is  certain  ;  but  I  hope — 
I  hope  they  won't  be  past  praying  for.  Here  is  Baynes,  having 
just  done  a  bad  action,  in  a  dreadfully  wicked,  murderous,  and 
dissatisfied  state  of  mind.  His  chafing,  bleeding  temper  is  one 
raw ;  his  whole  soul  one  rage,  and  wrath,  and  fever.  Charles 
Baynes,  thou  old  sinner,  I  pray  that  heaven  may  turn  thee  to  a 
better  state  of  mind.  1  will  kneel  down  by  thy  side,  scatter 
ashes  on  my  own  bald  pate,  and  we  will  quaver  out  Peccaolmus 
together. 

'•  In  one  word,  the  young  man's  conduct  has  been  so  outra- 
geous and  disreputable  that  I  can't,  Mac,  as  a  father  of  a  family, 
consent  to  my  girl's  marrying.  Out  of  a  regard  for  her  happiness, 
it  is  my  duty  te>  break  off  the  engagement,"  cries  the  general, 
finishing  the  story. 

"  Has  he  formally  released  you  from  that  trust  business  V 
asked  the  major. 

"  Good  heavens,  Mac !"  cries  the  general,  turning  very  red. 
"  You  know  I  am  as  innocent  of  all  wronor  toward  him  as  you 
are  r 

"  Innocent — only  you  did  not  look  to  your  trust — " 

U.I  think  ill  of  him,  sir.  I  think  he  is  a  wild,  reckless,  over- 
bearing young  fellow,"  calls  out  the  treneral,  very  quickly,  "  who 
would  make  my  child  miserable  ;  but  I  don't  think  he  is  such  a 
blackguard  as  to  come  down  on  a  retired  elderly'man  with  a  poor 
family — a  numerous  family  ;  a  man  who  has  bled  and  fought  for 
his  sovereign  in  the  Peninsula,  and  in  India,  as  the  Army  List 
will  show  you,  by  George  !    I  don't  think  Firmin  will  be  such  a 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.-  307 

scoundrel  as  to  come  clown  on  me,  I  say  ;  and  I  must  say,  Mac- 
Whirter,  I  think  it  most  unhandsome  of  you  to  allude  to  it — most 
unhandsome,  by  George  i" 

"  Why,  you  are  going  to  break*  off  your  bargain  with  him; 
why  should  he  keep  his  compact  with  you  V"  asks  the  gruff 
major. 

u  Because,"  shouted  the  general,  "  it  would  be  a  sin  and  a 
6hame  that  an  old  man  with  seven  children,  and' broken  health, 
who  has  served  in  everyplace — yes,  in  the  West  and  East  Indies, 
by  George  I — in  Canada — in  the  Peninsula,  and  at  New  Orleans ; 
because  he  has  been  deceived  and  humbugged  by  a  miserable 
scoundrel  of  a  doctor  into  signing  a  sham  paper,  by  George  1 
should  be, ruined,  and  his  poor  children  and  wife  driven  to  beg- 
•  gary,  by  Jove  !  as  you  seem  to  recommend  young  Firmin  to  do, 
Jack  Mac  Whirter  ;  and  I  '11  tell  you  what,  "Major  Mac  Whirter, 
I  take  it  deed  unfriendly  of  you  ;  and  I  '11  trouble  you  not  to  put 
your  oar  into  my  boat,  and  meddle  with  my  affairs,  that 's  all,  and 
I  '11  know  who 's  at  the  bottom  of  it,  by  Jove  !  It 's  the  gray  mare, 
Mac — it's  your  better  half,  Mac  Whirter — it's  that  confounded, 
meddling,  sneaking,  backbiting,  domineering — " 

"  What  next  ?"  roared  the  major.  '•  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Do  you 
think  I  don't  know,  Baynes,  who  has  put  you  on  doing  what  1 
have  no  hesitation  in  calling  a  most  sneaking  and  rascally  action 
— yes,  a  rascally  action,  by  George  !  I  am  not  going^  to  mince 
matters  !  Don't  come  your  Major-General  or  your  Mrs.  Major- 
General  over  me  !  It 's  Eliza  that  has  set  you  on.'  And  if  Tom 
Bunch  has  been  telling  you  that  you  have  been  breaking  from 
your  word,  and  are  acting  shabbily,  Tom  is  right ;  and  you  may 
get  somebody  else  to  go  out  with  you,  General  Baynes,  for,  by 
George,  I  won't  1" 

'.'  Have  you  come  all  the  way  from-Tours,  Mac,  in  order  to  in- 
sult me  ?"  asks  the  general. 

"  I  came  to  do  you  a  friendly  turn ;  to  take  charge  of  your 
poor  girl,  upon  whom  you  are  being  very  hard,'  Baynes.  And  « 
this  is  the  reward  I  get !  Thank  you.  No  more  grog !  What  I 
have  had  is  rather  too  strong  for  me  already."  And  the  major 
looks  down  with  an  expression  of 'scorn  at  the  emptied  beaker, 
the  idle  spoon  before  him. 

As  the  warriors  were  quarrelling  over  their  cups  there  came  to. 
them  a  noise  as  of  brawling  and  of  female  voices  without. 
*Mais,  Madame  /"  pleads  Madame  Smolensk,  in  her  grave  way. 
"  Taisez-vous,  Madame,  laissez-moi  tranquitle,  s'il  vous  plait  /' 
exclaims  the  well-known  voice,  of  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  which  I 
own  was  never  pleasant  to  me,  either  in  anger  or  good-humor. 
"And  your  Litt!e-^who  tries  to  sleep  in  my  chamber!"  again 
pleads  the  mistress  of  the  boarding-house.  "  Vous  nacez  pas 
droit  d'appeler,  Mademoiselle  Baynes  petite!'  calls  out  the  gen- 
•    eral's  lady.     And  Baynes,  who  was  fighting  and  quarrelling  him- 


308  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

self  just  now,  trembled  when  he  heard  her.  His  angry  face  as- 
sumed an  alarmed  expression.  He  looked  for  means  of  escape. 
He  appealed  for  protection  to  MacWhirter,  whose  nose  he  had 
been  ready  to  pull  anon.  Samson  was  a  mighty  man,  but  he  was 
a  fool  in  the  hands  of  a  woman.  Hercules  was  a  brave  man  and 
strong,  but  Omphale  twisted  him  round  her  spindle.  Even  so 
Baynes,  who  had  fought  in  India,  Spain,  America,  trembled  be- 
fore the  partner  of  his  bed  and  name. 

It  was  an  unlucky  afternoon.  While  the  husbands  had  been 
quarrelling  in  the  dining-room  over  brandy-and-water,  the  wives, 
the  sisters,  had  been  fighting  over  their  tea  in  the  salon.  I  don't 
know  what  the  other  boarders  were  about.  Philip  never  told 
me.  .  Perhaps  they  had  left  the  room  to  give  the  sisters  a  free 
opportunity  for  embraces  and  confidential  communication.  Per- 
haps there  were  no  lady  boarders  left.  Howbeit,  Emily  and 
Eliza  had  tea ;  and  before  that  refreshing  meal  was  concluded 
those  dear  women  were  fighting  as  hard  as  their  husbands  in  the 
adjacent  chamber. 

Eliza,  in  the  first  place,  was  very  angry  at  Emily's  coming 
without  invitation.  Emhy,  on  her  part,  was  angry  with  Eliza 
for  being  angry.  "  I  am  sure,  Eliza,"  said  the  spirited  and  in- 
jured MacWhirter,  "  that  is  the  third  time  you  have  alluded  to 
it  since  we  have  been  here.  Had  you  and  all  your  family  come 
to  Tours,  Mac  and  I  would  have  made  them  welcome — children 
and  all ;    and  I  am  sure  yours  make  trouble  enough  in  a  house." 

"  A  private  house  is  not  like  a  boarding-bouse,  Emily.  Here 
madame  makes  us  pay  frightfully  for  extras,"  remarks  Mrs. 
Baynes. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  came,  Eliza.  Let  us  say  no  more  about  it.  I 
can't  go  away  to-night,"  says  the  other. 

"  And  most  unkind  it  is  that  speech  to  make,  Emily.  Any 
more  tea  ?" 

"  Most  unpleasant  to  have  to  make  that  .speech,  Eliza.  To 
travel  a  whole  day  and  night — and  I  never  able  to  sleep  in  a  dili- 
gence— to  hasten  to  my  sister  because  I  thought  she  was  in 
trouble,  because  I  thought  a  sister  might  comfort  her  ;  and  to  be 
received  as  you — re — as  you — 0,  O,  O — Boh!  How  stoppid  I 
am  !"  A  handkerchief  dries  the  tears  :  a  smelling-bottle  restores 
a  little  composure.  "  When  you  came  to  us  at  Dumdum,  with 
two — o — o  children  in  the  hooping-cough,  I  am  sure  Mac  and  I 
•gave  you  a  very  different  welcome." 

The  other  was  smitten  with  a  remorse.  She  remembered  her 
sister's  kindness  in  former  days.  "  I  did  not  mean,  sister,  to  give 
you  pain,''  she  said.  "But  I  am  very  unhappy  myself,  Emily. 
My  child's  conduct  is  making  me  most  unhappy." 

"And  very  good  reason  jou  have  to  be  unhappy,  Eliza,  if 
woman  ever  had !"  says  the  other. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  yes  !"  gasps  the  general's  lady. 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  •      309 

44  It'  any  woman  ought  to  feci  remorse,  Eliza  Baynes,  I  am  sure 
it  's  you.  Sleepless  nights !  What  was  mine  in  the  diligence 
compared  to  the  nights  you  must  have  ?  I  said  so  to  myself.  '  I 
am  wretched,'  I  said,  '  but  what  must  site  be  ?'  " 

"  Of  course,  as  a  feeling  mother,  J  feel  that  poor  Charlotte  is 
unhappy,  ray  dear." 

"  But  what  makes  her  so,  my  dear  ?"  cries  Mrs."  MacWhirtcr, 
who  presently  showed  that,  she  was  mistress  of  the  whole  contro- 
versy. "  No  womler  Charlotte  is  unhappy,  dear  love  !  Can  a 
girl  be  engaged  to  a  young  man,  a  most  interesting  young  man, 
a  clever,  accomplished,  highly-educated  young  man — "• 

tl  What?"  cries  Mus.  Barnes. 

"  Have  n't  1  your  letters  ?  I  have  them  all  in  my  desk.  They 
are  in  that  hall  now.  Did  n't  you  tell  me  so  over  and  over 
again;  and  rave  about  him,  till  I  thought  you  were  in  love  with 
him  yourself  almost?"  cries  Mrs.  Mae.  ■ 

44A  most  indecent  observation  !"  cries  out  Eliza  Baynes,  in 
her  deep,  awful  voice.  "  No  woman,  no  sister,  shall  say  that  to 
me !" 

"  Shall  I  go  and  get  the  letters  ?  It  used  to  be,  '  Dear  Philip 
has  just  left  us.  Dear  Philip  has  been  more  than  a  son  to  me. 
He  is  our  preserver.'  Did  n't  you  write  all  that  to  me  over  and 
over  again  ?  And  because  you  have  found  a  richer  husband  for 
Charlotte,  you  are  going  to  turn  your  preserver  out  of  doors  !" 

44  Emily  MacWhirter,  am  I  to  sit  here  and  be  accused  of  crimes, 
uninvited,  mindr—  uninvited,  mind,  by  my  sister?  Is  a  general 
officer's  lady  to  be  treated  in  this  way  by  a  brevet  major's  wife? 
Though  you  are  my  senior  in  age,  Emily,  I  am  yours  in  rank. 
Out  of  any  room  in  England  but  this  I  go  before  you !  And  if 
you  have  come  uninvited  all  the  way  from  Tours  to  insult  me  in 
my  own  house — " 

44  House  indeed !  pretty  house  !  Everybody  else's  house  as 
well  as  yours !" 

"Such  as  it  is,  I  never  asked  you  to  come  into  it,  Emily !" 

44  Oh,  yes !  You  wish  me  to  go  out  in  the  night.  Mac  !  I 
say!" 

44  Emily  !"  cries  the  generaless. 

44  Mac,  I  say !"  screams  the  majoress,  flinging  o$en  the  door 
of  the  salon,  44  My  sister  wishes  me  to  go.     Do  you  hear  me  ?" 

uAu  nom  de  Dieu,  Madame, pen sez  a  cetie  pauvre  petite,  qui 
souffre  a  cote;"  cries  the  mistress  of  the  house,  pointing  to  her 
own  adjoining  chamber,  in  which,  we  have  said,  our  poor  little 
Charlotte  was  lying. 

"  Nappley  j)as,  Madamasette  Baynes  petite,  sivoplay !"  booms 
out  Mrs.  Bayn°,s'  contralto. 

"  MacWhirter,  I  say,  Major  MacWhirter4"  cries  Emily,  fling- 
ing open  the  door  of  the  dining-room  where  the  two  gentlemen 
were  knocking  their  own  heads  together.     "  MacWhirter  1     My 


810  THE   ADVENTUKES  .OF   PHILIP 

sister  chooses  to  insult  me,  and  say  that  a  brevet  major's  wife — " 

"  By  George  !"  are  you  fighting  too?"  asks  the  general. 

"  Baynes,  Emily  MacWhirter  has  insulted  me  !"  cries  Mre. 
Baynes. 

"  It  seems  to  have  been  a  settled  thing  beforehand,"  yells  the 
general ;  "  Major  MacWhirter  has  done  the  same  thing  by  me  ! 
He  ba»  forgotten  that  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  that  I  am." 

"  He  only  insults  you  because  he  thinks  you  are  his  relative, 
and  must  bear  everything  from  him,"  says  the  general's  wife. 

"By  George!  I  will  not  bear  everything  from  him!''  shouts 
the  general.  The  two  gentlemen  and  their  two  wives  are  squab- 
bling in  the  hall.  Madame  and  the  servants  are  peering  up  from 
the  kitchen  regions.  I  dare  say  the  boys  from  the  topmost  bal- 
usters are  saying  to  each  other,  "  Row  between  ma  and  aunt 
Mac  !"  I  dare  say  scared  little  Charlotte,  in  her  temporary 
apartment,  is,  for  a  while,  almost  forgetful  of  her  own  grief,  and 
wondering  what  quarrel  is  agitating  her  aunt  and  mother,  her 
father  and  uncle  ?  Place  the  remaining  male  and  female  board- 
ers about  in  the  corridors  and  on  the  landings,  in  various  atti- 
tudes, expressive  of  interest,  of  satiric  commentary,  wrath  at 
being  disturbed  by  unseemly  domestic  quarrel — in  what  posture 
you  will.  ,  As  for  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  she,  poor  thing,  does  not 
know  that  the  general  and  her  own  colonel  have  entered  on  a 
mortal  quarrel.  She  imagines  the  dispute  is  only  between  Mrs. 
Baynes  and  her  sister  as  yet ;  and  she  has  known  this  pair  quar- 
relling for  a  score  of  years  past.  "  Toujours  comme  9a,  fighting 
vous  savez,  et  puis  make  it  up  again.  Oui,"  she  explains  to  a 
French  friend  on  the  landing. 

In  the  very  midst  of  this  storm  Colonel  Bunch  returns,  his 
friend  and  second,  Dr.  Martin,  on  his  arm.  He  does  not  know 
that  two  battles  have  been  fought  since  his  own  combat.  His, 
we  will  say,  was  Ligny.  Then  came  Quartre-Bras,  in  which 
Baynes  and  MacWhirter  were  engaged.  Then  came  the  general 
action  of  Waterloo.  And  here  enters  Colonel  Bunch,  quite  un- 
conscious of  the  great  engagements  which  have  taken  place  since 
his  temporary  retreat  in  search  of  reinforcements. 

"  How  are  you,  MacWhirter?"  cries  the  colonel  of  the  purple 
whiskers.  '"My  friend,  Dr.  Martin  !"  And  as  he  addresses 
himself  to  the  general  his  eyes  almost  start  out  of  his  head,  as 
if  they  would  shoot  themselves  into  the  breast  of  that  officer. 

"  My  dear,  hush  !  Emily  MacWhirter,  had  we  not  better  de- 
fer this  most  painful  dispute  ?  The  whole  house  is  listening  to 
us  !"  whispers  the  general,  in  a  rapid,  low  voice.  Doctor — 
Colonel  Bunch — Major  MacWhirter,  had  we  not  better  go  into 
the  dining-room  ?' 

The  general  and  tne  doctor  go  first ;  Major  MacWhirter  and 
Colonel  Bunch  pause  at  the  door.  Says  Bunch  to  MacWhirter, 
"  Major,  you  act  as  the  general's  friend  in  this  affair  ?     It  '3  most 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  311 

awkward,  but,  by  George !  Baynes  has  said  things  to  me  that.  I 
won't  bear,  were  he  my  own  flesh  and  bloofl,  by  George !  And 
I  know  him  a  deuced  deal  too  well  to  think  he  will  ever  apolo- 
gize!" 

"  He  has  said  things  to  me,  Bunch,  that  I  won't  bear  from  fifty 
brother-in-laws,  by  George!"  growls  MacWhirter. 

"  What  V     Don't  you  bring  me  any  message  fiom  him?" 

"  I  tell  you,  Tom  Bunch,  I  want  to  send  a  message  to  him. 
Invite  me  to  his  house,  and  insult  me  and  Emily  when  we  come! 
By  George  !  it  makes  my  blood  boil.  Insult  us  after  travelling 
twenty-four  hours  in  a  confounded  diligence,  and  say  we  're  not 
invited !  He  and  his  little  catamaran." 
.  "  Hush  !"  interposed  Bunch. 

"I  say  catamaran,  sir  !  don't  tell  me/"  They  came  and  staid 
with  us  four  months  at  Dumdum — the  children  ill  with  the  pip, 
or  ,-ome  confounded  thing — went  to  Europe,  and  left  me  to  pay 
the  doctor's  bill ;  and  now,  by — " 

Was  the  major  going  to  invoke  George,  the  Cappadocian 
champion,  or  Olympian  Jove  V  At  this  moment  a  door  by  which 
they  stood  opens.  You  may  remember  there  were  three  doors 
all  on  that  landing;  if  you  doubt  me,  go  and  see  the  house  (Av- 
enue de  Marli,  Champs  Elyeees,  Paris).  '  A  third  door  opens, 
and  a  young  lady  conies  out,  looking  very  pale  and  sad,  and  her 
hair  hanging  over  her  shoulders — her  hair,  which  hung  in  rich 
clusters  generally,  but  I  suppose  tears  have  put  it  all  out  of  curl. 

"  Is  it  you,  Uncle  Mac?  I  thought  I  knew  your  voice,  and  I 
heard  Aunt  Emily's,"  says  the  little  person. 

14  Yes,  it  is  I,  Gnarly,"  says  uncle  Mac.  And  he  looks  into  the 
round  face,  which  looks  so  wild  and  is  so  full  of  grief  unutterable 
that  uncle  Mae  is  quite  melted,  and  takes  the  child  to  his  armS, 
and  says,  "  What  is  it,  my  dear?"  And  he  quite  forgets  that  he 
proposes  to  blow  her  father's  brains  out  in  the  morning.  "  How 
hot  your  little  hands  are  !" 

"  Uncle,  Uncle !"  she  says  in  a  swift,  febrile  whisper,  "  you  're 
come  to  take  me  away,  I  know.  I  heard  you  and  papa,  I  heard 
mamma  and  aunt  Emily  speaking  quite  loud,  loud  !  But  if  I  go 
— 1  '11 — I  '11  never  love  any  but  him  !" 

"  But  whom,  dear  ?" 

"  But  Philip,  Uncle." 

"  By  George  I  Char,  no  more  you  shall !"  says  the  major.  And 
herewith  the  poor  child,  who  had  been  sitting  up  on  her  bed 
while  this  quarrelling  of  sisters — while  this  brawling  of  majors, 
generals,  colonels — while  this  coming  of  hackney-coaches — while 
this  arrival  and  departure  of  visitors  on  horseback — had  been 
taking  place,  gave  a  fine  hysterical  scream,  and  fell  into  her 
uncle's  arms  laughing  and  crying  wildly. 

This  outcry,  of  course,  brought  the  gentlemen  from  their  ad- 
jacent room,  and  the  ladies  from  theirs. 


312  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  What  are  you  making  a  fool  of  yourself  about?"  growls  Mrs. 
Baynes,  in  her  deepest  bark. 

"  By  George,  Eliza,  you  are  too  bad!"  says  the  genera),  quite, 
white. 

"  Eliza,  you  are  a  brute  !"  cries  Mrs.  MacWhirter. 

"So  she  is!"  shrieks  Mrs.  Bunch,  from  the  landing-place 
overhead,  where  other  lady-boarders  were  assembled  looking 
down  on  this  awful  family  battle. 

Eliza  Baynes  knew  she  had  gone  too  far.  Poor  Charly  was 
scarce  conscious  by  this  time,  and  wildly  screaming  "  Never, 
never !".  .  .  .When,  as  I  live,  who  should  burst  into  the  premises 
but  a  young  man  with  fair  hair,  with  flaming  whiskers,  with  flam- 
ing eyes,  who  calls  out,  "  What  is  it  ?  I  am  here,  Charlotte, 
Charlotte !" 

Who  is  that  young  man  ?  We  had  a  glimpse  of  him,  prowling 
about  the  Champs  Elysees  just  now,  and  dodging  behind  a  tree 
when  Colonel  Bunch  went  out  in  search  of  his  second.  Then 
the  young  man  saw  the  MacWhirter  hackney-coach  approach 
the  house.  Then  he  waited  and  waited,  looking  to  that  upper 
window  behind  which  we  know  his  beloved  was  not  reposing. 
Then  he  beheld  Bunch  and  Doctor  Martin  arrive.  Then  he 
passed  through  the  wicket  into  the  garden,  and  heard  Mrs.  Mac 
and  Mrs.  Baynes  fighting.  Then  there  came  from  the  passage — 
where,  you  see,  this  battle  was  going  on — that  ringing,  dreadful 
laugh  and  scream  of  poor  Charlotte;  and  Philip  Firmin  burst 
like  a  bombshell  into  the  midst  of  the  hall  where  the  battle  was 
raging,  and  of  the  family  circle  who  were  fighting  and  scream- 
ing. 

Here  is  a  picture,  I  protest.  We  have — first,  the  boarders  on 
the  first  landing,  whither,  too,  the  Baynes  children  have  crept  in 
their  night-gowns ;  secondly,  we  have  Auguste,  Fraucoise,  the 
cook,  and  the  assistant  coming  up  from  the  basement ;  and,  third, 
we  have  Colonel  "Bunch,  Doctor  Martin,  Major  MacWhirter, 
with  Charlotte,  in  his  arms ;  Madame,  General  B.,  Mrs.  Mac,  Mrs. 
General  B.,  all  in  the  passage,  when  our  friend,  the  bombshell, 
bursts  in  among  them. 

"What  is  it?  Charlotte,  I  am  here!"  cries  Philip,  with  his 
great  voice  ;  at  hearing  which,  little  Char  gives  one  final  f-cream, 
and,  at  the  next  moment,  she  has  fainted  quite  dead—but  this 
time  she  is  on -Philip's  shoulder. 

"  You  brute,  how  dare  you  do  this?"  asks  Mrs.  Baynes,  glar- 
ing at  the  young  man. 

"  It  is  you  who  ffave  done  it,  Eliza !"  says  aunt  Emily. 

"  And  so  she  has,  Mrs.  MacWhirter  !"  calls  out  Mrs.  Colonel 
Bunch  from  the  landing  above. 

And  Charles  Baynes  felt  he  had  acted  like  a  traitor,  and  hung 
down  his  head.  He  had  encouraged  his  daughter  to  give  her 
heart  away,  and  she  had  obeyed  him.     When  he  saw  Philip  I 


ON  HIS  WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  313 

think  he  was  glad;  so  was  the  major, though  Pirtnm,  to  be  sure, 
pushed  him  quite  roughly  up  against  the  wall. 

"  Is  this  vulgar  scandal  to  go  on  in  the  passage  before  the 
whole  house  ?"  gasped  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  Bunch  brought  me  here  to  prescribe  for  this  young  lady," 
says  little  Doctor  Martin,  in  a  very  courtly  way.  ■  "  Madame, 
will  you  get  a  little  sal- volatile  from  Anjubeau's,  in  the  Fau- 
bourg ;  and  let  her  be  kept  very  quiet !" 

"  Come,  Monsieur  Philippe,  Ifr  is  enough  like  that !"  cries 
madame,  who  can't  repress  a  smile.  "  Come  to  your  chamber, 
dear  little !" 

"  Madame,"  cries  Mrs.  Baynes,  "  une  mere — " 

Madame  shrugs  her  shoulders.  "  Une  mere,  une  belle  ir£ere, 
ma  fair  she  says.     "  Come,  Mademoiselle  !" 

There  were  only  very  few  people  in  the  boarding-house ;  if 
they  knew,  if  they  saw,  what  happened,  how  can  we  help  our- 
selves ?  But  that  they  had  all  been  sitting  over  a  powder-maga- 
zine, which  might  have  blown  up  and  destroyed  one,  two,  three, 
five  people — even  Philip  did  not  know,  until  afterward,  when, 
laughing,  Major  MaeWhirter  told  him  how  that  meek  but  most 
savage  Baynes  had  first  challenged  Bunch,  had  then  challenged 
his  brother-in-law,  and  how  all  sorts  of  battle,  murder,  sudden 
death  might  have  ensued  had  the  quarrel  not  come  to  an  end. 

Were  your  humble  servant  anxious  to  harrow  his  reader's 
feelings,  or  display  his  own  graphical  powers,  you  understand 
that  I  never  would  have  allowed  those  two  gallant  officers  to 
quarrel  and  threaten  each  other's  very  noses,  without  having 
the  insult  wiped  out  in  blood.  The  Bois  de  Boulogne  is  hard 
by  the  Avenue  de  Marli,  with  plenty  of  cool  fighting  ground. 
The  octroi  officers  never  stop  gentlemen  going  out  at  the  neigh- 
•borinii  barrier  upon  duelling  business,  or  prevent  the  return  of 
the  slain  victim  in  the  hackney-coach  when  the  dreadful  combat 
is  over.  From  my  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Baynes'  character,  I 
have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that"  she  would  have  encouraged 
her  husband  to  light ;  and,  the  general  down,  would  have"  put 
pistols  into  the  hands  of  her  boys,  and  bidden  them  carry  on  the 
vendetta ;  but  as  I  do  not,  for  my  part,  love  to  see  brethren  at 
war,  or  Moses  and  Aaron  tugging  white  handfuls  out  of  each 
other's  beards,  I  am  glad  there  is  going  to  be  no  fight  between 
the  veterans,  and  that  either's  stout  old  breast  is  secure  from  the 
fratricidal  bullet. 

Major  Macwhirter  forgot  all  about  bullets  and  battles^  when 
poor  little  Charlotte  kissed  him,  and  was  not  in  the  least  jealous 
when  he  saw  the  little  maiden  clinging  on  Philip's  arm.  He 
was  melted  at  the  sight  of  that  grief  and  innocence,  when  Mrs. 
Baynes  still  continued  to  bark  out  her  private  rage,  and  said : 
"  If  the  general  won't  protect  me  from  insult,  [  think  I  had  bet- 
ter go." 


314  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  By  Jove,  I  think  you  had  1"  exclaimed  MacWhirter,  to 
which  remark  the  eyes  of  the  doctor  and  Colonel  Bunch  gleamed 
an  approval. 

"Alton Si  Monsieur  Philippe.  Enough  like  that — let  me  take 
her  to  bed  again,"  madame  resumed.     "  Come,  dear  Miss  1" 

What  a  pity  that  the  bedroom  was  but  a  yard  from  where 
they  stood  !  Philip  felt  strong  enough  to  carry  his  little  Charlotte 
to  the  Tuileries.  The  thick  brown  locks,  which  had  fallen  over 
his  shoulders,  are  lifted  away.  The  little  wounded  heart  that 
had  lain  against  his  own,  parts  from  him  with  a  reviving  throb. 
Madame  and  her  mother  carry  away  little  Charlotte.  The  door 
of  the  neighboring  chamber  cioses  on  her.  The  sad  little  vision 
has  disappeared.  The  men,  quarrelling  anon  in  the  passage, 
stand  there  silent. 

"  I  heard  her  voice  outside,"  said  Philip,  after  a*  little  pause 
(with  love,  with  grief,  with  excitement,  I  suppose  his  head  was 
in  a  whirl).  "  I  heard  her  voice  outside,  and  I  could  n't  help 
coming  in." 

"  By  George,  I  should  think  not,  young  fellow  !"  says  Major 
MacWhirter,  stoutly  shaking  the  young  man  by  the  hand. 

"Hush!  hush!"  whispers  the  doctor;  "she  must  be  quite 
quiet.  She  has  had  quite  excitement  enough  for  to-night.  There 
must  be  no  more  scenes,  my  young  fellow." 

And  Philip  says,  when  in  this  his  agony  of  grief  and  doubt  he 
found  a  friendly  hand  put  out  to  him,  he  himself  was  so  exceed- 
ingly moved  that  he  was  compelled  to  fly  out  of  the  company  of 
the  old  men  into  the  night,  where  the  rain  was  pouring — the 
gentle  rain. 

While  Philip,  without  Madame  Smolensk's  premises,  is  saying 
his  tenderest  prayers,  offering  up  his  tears,  heart-throbs,  and 
most  passionate  vows  of  love  for  little  Charlotte's  benefit,  the 
warriors  assembled  within  once  more  retreat  to  a  colloquy  in  the 
salle-a-manger ;  and,  in  consequence  of  the  rainy  state  of  the 
night,  the  astonished  Auguste  has  to  bring  a  third  supply  of  hot 
water  for  the  four  gentlemen  attending  the  congress.  The  colo- 
nel, the  major,  the  doctor,  ranged  themselves  on  one  side  the  table, 
defended,  as  it  were,  by  a  line  of  armed  tumblers,  flanked  by  a 
strong  brandy-bottle  and  a  stout  earthwork,  from  an  embrasure 
in  which  scalding  water  could  be  discharged.  Behind  these  for- 
tifications the  veterans  awaited  their  enemy,  who.  after  marching 
up  and  down  the  room  for  a  while,  takes  position  finally  in  their 
front  and  prepares  to  attack.  The  general  remounts  his  cheval 
de  bataille,  but  can  not  bring  the  animal  to  charge  as  fiercely  as 
before'  Charlotte's  white  apparition  has  come  among  them,  and 
flung  her  fair  arms  between  the  men  of  war.  In  vain  Baynes 
tries  to  get  up  a  bluster,  and  to  enforce  his  passion  with  by 
Georges,'  by  Joves,  and  words  naughtier  ^iiil.  That  weak,  meek, 
quiet,  heu-peeked,  tyufnrost  bioodrtbirjsty  old  general  found  him- 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  315 

self  forming  his  own  minority,  and  against  him  his  old  comrade 
Bunch,  whom  he  had  insulted  and  nose-pulled  ;  his  brother-in- 
law,  MacWhirter,  whom  he  had  nose-pulled  and  insulted  ;  and 
the  doctor,  who  had  been  called  in  as  the  iriend  of  the  former. 
As  they  faced  him,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  each  of  those  three  ac- 
quired fresh  courage  from  his  neighbor.  Each,  taking  his  aim 
deliberately,  poured  his  fire  into  Baynes.  To  yield  to  such  odds, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  not  so  distasteful  to  the  veteran  as  to  have 
to  give  up  his  sword  to  any  single  adversary.  Before  he  would 
own  himself  in  the  wrong  to  any  individual,  he  would  eat  that 
individual's  ears  and  nose  ;  but  to  be  surrounded  by  three  ene- 
mies, and  strike  your  flag  before  such  odds,  was  no  disgrace  ;  and 
Baynes  could  take  the  circumbendibus  way  of  apology  to  which 
some  proud  spirits  will  submit  Thus  he  could  say  to  the  doctor, 
"  Well,  Doctor,  perhaps  1  was  hasty  in  accusing  Bunch  of  employ- 
ing bad  language  to  me.  A  by-stander  can  see  these  things 
sometimes  when  a  principal  is  too  angry ;  and  as  you  go  against 
me — well — there,  then,  1  ask  Bunch's  pardon."  That  business 
over,  the  MacWhirter  reconciliation  was  very  speedily  brought 
about.  Fact  was,  was  in  a  confounded  ill-temper — very  much 
disturbed  by  events  of  the  day — did  n't  mean  anything  but  this, 
that,  and  so  forth.  If  this  old  chief  had  to  eat  humble  pie  his 
brave  adversaries  were  anxious  that  he  should  gobble  up  his  por- 
tion as  quickly  as  possible,  and  turned  away  their  honest  old 
heads  as  he  swallowed  it.  One  of  the  party  told  his  wile  of  the 
quarrel  which  had  arisen,  but  Baynes  never  did.  "  I  declare, 
sir !"  -Philip  used  to  say,  "had  she  known  anything  about  the 
quarrel  that  night,  Mrs.  Baynes  would  have  made  her  husband 
turn  out  of  bed  at  midnight,  and  challe|^,,his  old  friends  over 
again  !"  But  then  there  was  no  love  b'ejgyeen  Philip  and  Mrs. 
Baynes,  and  in  those  whom  he  hates  he  is  accustomed  to  see  little 
good. 

Thus,  any  gentle  reader  who  expected  to  be  treated  to  an 
account  of  the  breakage  of  the  sixth  commandment,  will  close  this 
chapter  disappointed.  Those  stout  old  rusty  swords  which  were 
fetched  ofi"  their  hooks  by  the  warriors,  their  owners,  were  re- 
turned undrawn  to  their  ilanuel  cases.  Hands  were  shaken  after 
a  fashion — at  least  no  Jblood  was  shed.  But,  though  the  words 
spoken  between  the  old  boys  were  civil  enough,  Bunch,  Baynes, 
and  the  doctor  could  not  alter  their  opinion  that  Philip  had  been 
hardly  used,  and  that  the  benefactor  of  his  family  merited  a  bet- 
ter treatment  from  General  Baynes. 

Meanwhile  that  benefactor  strode  home  through  the  rain  in  a 
state  of  perfect  rapture.  The  rain,  refreshed  him,  as  did  his  own 
tears.  The  dearest  little  maiden  had  sunk  for  a  moment  on  his 
heart,  and,  as  she  lay  there,  a  thrill  of  hope  vibrated  through  his 
whole  frame.  He*  father's  olfl  friends  had  held  out  a  hand  to 
him,  and  bid  him  not  despair.      Blow  wind,  fall  autumn  rains  ! 


316  THE   ADVENTURES   OP   PHILIP 

In  the  midnight,  under  the  gusty  trees,  amidst  which  the  lamps 
of  the  reverberes  are  tossing,  the  young  fellow  strides  back  to  his 
lodgings.  He  is.  poor  and  unhappy,  but  he  has  Hope  along  with 
him.  He  looks  at  a  certain  breast-button  of  his  old  coat  ere  he* 
takes  it  off  to  sleep.  "  Her  cheek  was  lying  there,"  he  thinks, 
"just  there."  My  poor  little  Charlotte!  what  could  she  have 
done  to  the  breast-button  of  the  old  coat  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

IN  WHICH  MRS.  MACWHIRTER  HAS  A  NEW  BONNET. 

Now  though  the  unhappy  Philip  slept  quite  soundly,  so  that 
his  boots,  those  tramp-worn  sentries,  remained  en  faction  at  his 
door  until  quite  a  late  hour  next  morning;  and  though  little 
Charlotte,  after  a  prayer  or  two,  sank  into  the  sweetest  and  most 
refreshing  girlish  slumber,  Charlotte's  father  and  mother  had  a 
bad  night;  and,  for  my  part,  I  maintain  that  they  did  not 
Reserve  a  good  one.  It  was  very  well  for  Mrs.  Baynes  to  declare 
that  it  was  MacWhirter's  snoring  which  kept  them  awake  (Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Mac  being  lodged  in  the  bedroom  over  their  relatives) 
— I  don't  say  a  snoring  neighbor  is  pleasant — but  what  a  bedfel- 
low is  a  bad  conscience!  Under  Mrs.  Baynes'  nightcap  the  grim 
eyes  lie  open  all  night ;  on  Baynes'  pillow  is  a  silent,  wakeful 
head  that  hears  the  hours  toll.  A  plague  upon  the  young  man ! 
(thinks  the  female  bonnet  de  nuit) — how  dare  he  come  in  and  dis- 
turb everything  ?  How  pale  Charlotte  will  look  to-morrow  when 
Mrs.  Hely  calls  with  her  son  !  When  she  has  been  crying  she 
looks  hideous,  and  her  eyelids  and  nose  are  quite  red.  She  may 
fly  out,  and  say  something  wicked  and  absurd,  as  she  did  to-day. 
I  wish  I  had  never  seen  that  insolent  young  man,  with  his  carroty 
beard  and  vulgar  Blucher  boots  !  If  my  boys  were  grown  up,  he 
should  not  come  hectoring  about  the  house  us  he  does  i  they 
-would  soon  find  a  way  of  punishing  his  impudence  !  Balked  re- 
venge and  a  hungry  disappointment,  I  think,  are  keeping  that 
old  woman  awake  ;  and  if  she  hears  the  hours  toiling,  it  is  because 
wicked  thoughts  make  her  sleepless. 

As  for  Baynes,  I  believe  that  old  man  is  awake,  because  he  is 
awake  to  the  shabbiness  of  his  own  conduct.  His  conscience 
has  got  the  better  of  him,  which  he  has  been  trying  to  bully  out 
of  doors.  Do  what  he  will,  that  reflection  forces  itself  upon  him. 
Mac,  Bunch,  and  the  doctor  all  saw  the  thiag  at  once,  and  went 
dead  against  him.  He  wanted  to  break  his  word  to  a  young  fel- 
low, who,  whatever  his  faults  nrght  be,  had  acted  most  nobly  and 
generously  by  the  Baynes  family.  He  might  have  been  ruined 
but  for  Philip's  forbearance;  and  showed  his  gratitude  by  break- 
ing his  promise  to  the  young  fellow.     He  was  a  hen-pecked 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  317 

man — that  was  tho  fact.  Ho  allowed  his  wife  to  govern  him: 
that  little,  old,  plain,  cantankerous  woman  asleep  yonder. 
Asleep.  Was  she  ?  No.  He  knew  she  was  n't.  Both  were 
lying  quite  still,  wide  awake,  pursuing  their  dismal  thoughts. 
Only  Charles  was  owning  that  he  was  a  sinner,  while  Eliza,  his 
wife,  in  a  rage  at  her  last  defeat,  was  meditating  how  she  could 
coutinue  and  still  win  her  battle.  m 

Then  Baynes  reflects  how  persevering  his  wife  is;  how,  all 
through  life,  she  has  come  back  and  back  and  back  to  her  point, 
until  he  has  ended  by  an  almost  utter  subjugation.  He  will 
resist  for  a  day ;  she  will  fight  for  a  year,  for  a  life.  If  once  she 
hates  people,  the  sentiment  always  remains  with  her  fresh  and 
lively.  Her  jealousy  never  dies;  nor  her  desire  to  rule.  What 
a  life  she  will  lead  poor  Charlotte,  now  she  has  declared  against 
Philip !  The  poor  child  will  be  subject  to  a  dreadful  tyranny  : 
the  father  knows  it.  As  soon  as  he  leaves  the  house  on  his  daily 
walks  the  girl's  torture  will  begin.  Bay  ics  knows  how  his  wife 
can  torture  a  woman.  As  she  groans  out  a  hollow  cou^h  from 
her  bed  in  the  midnight  the  guilty  man  lies  quite  mum  under  his 
own  counterpane.  If  she  fancies  him  awake  it  will  be  his  turn 
to  receive  the  torture.  Ah,  Othello,  man  ami !  when  you  look 
round  at  married  life,  and  know  what  you  know,  don't  you  won- 
der that  the  bolster  is  not  used  a  great  deal  more  freely  on  both 
sides?  Horrible  cynicism  I  Yes — I  know.  These  propositions 
served  raw  are  savage,  and  shock  your  sensibility ;  cooked  with 
a  little  piquant  sauce,  they  are  welcome  at  quite  polite  tables. 

"  Poor  child  !  Yes,  by  George  !  What  a  life  her  mother  will 
lead  her!"  thinks  tin  general,  rolling  uneasy  on  the  midnight 
pillow.  "  No  rest  for  her,  day  or  night,  until  she  marries  the 
man  of  her  mother's  choosing.*  And  she  has  a:delijate  chest — 
Martin  says  she  has;  and  she  wants  coaxing  and  soothing;  and 
pretty  coaxiug  she  will  have  from  mamma!'''  Then,  I  dare  say, 
the  past  rises  up  in  that  wakeful  old  m  ui's  uncomfortable  memo- 
ry. His  little  Charlotte  is  a  child  again,  laughing  on  his  knee, 
and  playing  with  his  accoutrements  as  he  comes  home  from  pa- 
rade. He  remembers  the  fever  which  she  had,  when  she  would 
take  medicine  from  no  other  hand;  and  how,  though  silent  with 
her  mother,  with  him  she  would  never  tire  of  prattling,  prat- 
tling. Guilt-stricken  old  man !  are  those  tears  trickling  down 
thy  Old  nose?  It  is  midnight.  We  can  not  see.  When  you 
brought  her  to  the  river,  and  parted  with  her  to  send  her  to  Eu- 
rope, how  the  little  maid  clung  to  you,  and  cried,  "Papa,  papa!" 
Staggering  up  the  steps  of  the  ghaut,  how  you  wept  yourself—^ 
yes,  wept  tears  of  passiouate  tender  grief  at  parting  with  the  dar- 
ling of  your  soul.  And  now,  deliberately,  and  for  the  sake  of 
money,  you  stab  her  to  the  heart,  and  break  your  plighted  honor 
to  your  child.  "And  it  is  yonder  cruel,  shrivelled,  bilious,  plain 
old  woman  who  makes  me  do  all  this,  and  trample  on  my  dar- 


318  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

ling,  and  torture  her  !"  he  thinks.  In  ZofFany's  famous  picture 
of  Garrick  and  Mrs.  Pritehard  as  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth, 
Macbeth  stands  in  an  attitude  hideously  contorted  and  constrain- 
ed, while  Lady  Mac  is. firm  and  easy.  Was  this  the  actor's  art, 
or  the  poet's  device  ?  Baynes  is  wretched,  then.  He  is  wrung 
with  remorse,  and  shame,  and  pity.  •  Well,  I  am  glad  of  it.  Old 
man,  old  man  !  how  darest  thou  to  cause  that  child's  tender  little 
bosom  to  bleed?  How  bilious  he  looks  the  next  morning!  I 
declare  as  yellow  as  his  grim  old  wife.  When  Mrs.  General  B. 
hears  the  children  their  lessons,  how  she  will  scold  them !  It  is 
my  belief  she  will  bark  through  the  morning  chapter,  and  scarce 
understand  a  word  of  its  meaning.  As  for  Charlotte,  when  she 
appears  with  red  eyes,  and  ever  so  little  color  in  her  round  cheek, 
there  is  that  in  her  look  and  demeanor  which  warns  her  mother 
to  refrain  from  too  familiar  abuse  or  scolding.  The  girl  is  in 
rebellion.  All  day  Char  was  in  a  feverish  state,  her  eyes  Hashing 
war.  There  was  a  song  which  Philip  loved  in  those  days :  the 
song  of  Ruth.  Char  sate  down  to  the  piano,  and  sang  it  with  a 
strange  energy.  "  Thy  people  shall  be  my  people" — she  sang 
with  ail  her  heart — "  and  thy  God  my  God  !"  The  slave  had 
risen.  The  little  heart  was  in  arms  and  mutiny.  The  mother 
was  scared  by  her  defiance. 

As  for  the  guilty  ©Id  father — pursued  by  the  fiend  remorse,  he 
fieri  early  from  his  heuse,  and  read  all  the  papers  at  GalignanVs 
without  comprehending  them.  Madly  regardless  of  expense,  he 
then  plunged  into  one  of  those  luxurious  restaurants  in  the  Pal- 
ais Royal  where  you  get  soup,  three  dishes,  a  sweet,  and  a  pint 
of  delicious  wine  for  two  frongs,  by  George  !  But  all  the  luxu- 
ries there  presented  to  him  could  not  drive  away  care  or  create 
appetite.  Then  the  poor  old  wretch  went  off  and  saw  a  ballet 
at  the  Grand  Opera.  In  vain  !  The  pink  nymphs  had -not  the 
slightest  fascination  for  him.  He  hardly  was  aware  of  their 
ogles,  bounds,  and  capers.  He  saw  a  little  maid  with  round,  sad 
eyes;  his  Iphigenia  whom  he  was  stabbing.  He  took  more  bran- 
dy-and-water  at  cafes  on  his  way  borne.  In  vain,  in  vain,  I  tell 
you  !  The  old  wife  was  sitting  up  for  him,  scared  at  the  unusual 
absence  of  her  lord.  She  dared  not  remonstrate  with  him  when 
he  returned.  His  face  was  pale.  His  eyes  were  fierce  and 
bloodshot.  When  the  general  had  a  particular  look,  Eliza 
Baynes  cowered  in  silence.  Mac,  the  two  sisters,  and,  I  think, 
Colonel  Bunch  (but  on  this  point  my  informant,  Philip,  can  not 
be  sure),  were  having  a  dreary  rubber  when  the  general  came, 
in.  Mrs.  B.  knew  by  the  general's  face  that  he  had  been  having 
recourse  to  alcoholic  stimulus.  But  she  dared  not  speak.  A 
tiger  in  a  jungle  was  not  more  savage  than  Baynes  sometimes. 
"  Where  is  Char  ?"  he  asked,  in  his  dreadful,  his  Bluebeard  voice. 
"  Char  was  gone  to  bed,"  said  mamma,  sorting  her  trumps. 
"  Hm  !  Augoost,  Odevee,  Osho  !"     Did  Eliza  Baynes  interfere, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.         Si 9 

though  she  knew  he  had  had  enough  ?  As  soon  interfere  with  a 
tiger,  and  toll  him  he  had  eaten  enough  Sepoy.  After  Lady 
Macbeth  had  induced  Mac  to  go  through  that  business  with  Dun- 
can, depend  upon  it  she  was  not  very  deferential  and  respectful 
to  her  general.  All  the  king's  horses  and.  men  could  not  bring 
his  late  majesty  back  to  life  again.  As  for  you,  old  man,  though 
your  deed  is  done,  it  is  not  past  recalling.  Though  you  have 
withdrawn  from  your  word  on  a  sordid  money  pretext;  made 
two  hearts  miserable,  stabbed  cruelly  that  one  which  you  love 
best  in  the  world  ;  acted  with  wicked  ingratitude  toward  a  young 
man,  who  has  been  nobly  forgiving  toward  you  and  yours  ;  and 
are  suffering  with  rage  and  remorse,  as  you  own  your  crime  to 
yourself;  your  deed  is  not  past  recalling  as  yet.  You  may  soothe 
that  anguish  and  dry  those  tears.  It  is  but  an  act  of  resolution 
on  your  part,  and  a  firm  resumption  of  your  marital  authority. 
Mrs.  Baynes,  alter  her  crime,  is  quite  humble  and  gentle.  She 
has  half-murdered  her  child,  and  stretched  Philip  on  an  infernal 
rack  of  torture  ;  but  she  is  quite  civil  to  overybody  at  madame's 
house.  Not  one  word  does  she  say  respecting  Mrs.  Colonel 
Bunch's  outbreak  of  the  night  before.  She  talks  to  sister  Emily 
about  Paris,  the  fashions,  and  Emily's  walks  on  the  Boulevard 
and  the  Palais  Royal  with  her  major.  She  bestows  ghastly 
smiles  upon  sundry  lodgers  at  table.  She  thanks  Augoost  when 
he  serves  her  at  dinner — and  says,  aAh,  Madame,  que  le  hoof  est 
bong  aujourdhui,  rien  que  j'aime  comme  le pofofou."  Oh,  you  old 
hypocrite  !  BiU  you  know  1,  for  my  part,  always  disliked  the 
woman,  and  said  her  good-humor  Was  more  detestable  than  her 
anger.  You  hypocrite  !  I  say  again  :  ay,  and  avow  that  there 
were  other  hypocrites  at  the  table,  as  you  shall  presently  hear. 

When  Baynes  got  an  opportunity  of  speaking  unobserved,  as 
he  thought,  to  madamo,  you  may  be  sure  the  guilty  wretch  asked 
her  how  his  little  Charlotte  was.  Mrs.  Baynes  trumped  her 
partner's  best  heart  at  that  moment,  but  pretended  to  observe  ot 
overhear  nothing.  u  She  goes  better — she  sleeps,"  madame  said. 
kkMr.  the  Doctor  Martin  has  commanded  her  a  calming  notion." 
And  what  if  T  were  to  tell'you  that  somebody  had  taken  a  little 
letter  from  Charlotte,  and  actually  had  «iiven  fifteen  sous  to  a 
Savoyard  youth  to  convey  that  letter  to  somebody  else  ?  What 
if  1  were  to  tell  you  that' the  party  to  whom  that  letter  was  ad- 
dressed, straightway  wrote  an  answer — directed  to  Madame  de 
Smolensk,  of  course  V  I  know  it  was  very  wrong  ;  but  I  suspect 
Philip's  prescription  did  quite  as  much  good  as  Doctor  Martin's, 
and  don't  intend  to  be  very  angry  with  madame  for  consulting 
tne  unlicensed  practitioner.  Don't  preach  to  me,  madam,  about 
morality,  and  dangerous  examples  set  to  young  people.  Even  at 
your  present  mature  age,  and  with  your  dear  daughters  around 
you,  if  your  ladyship  goes  io  h<  ar  the  Barber  of  Seville,  on  which 
side  are  your  sympathies — on  Dr.  Bartolo's  or  Miss  Rosina'sr 


320  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

Although,  then,  Mrs  Baynes  was  most  respectful  to  her  hus- 
band, and  by  many  grim  blandishments,  humble  appeals,  and 
forced  humiliations,  strove  to  conciliate  and  soothe  him,  the  gen-, 
eral  turned  a  dark,  lowering  face  upon  the  partner  of  his  exist- 
ence :  her  dismal  smiles  were  no  longer  pleasing  to  him  :  he 
returned  curt  *'  Ohs!"  and  "Ahs  !"'  to  her  remarks.  When  Mrs. 
Hely  and  her  son  and  her  daughter  drove  up  in  their  family 
coach  to  pay  yet  a  second  visit  to  the  Baynes  family,  the  general 
flew  in  a  passion,  and  cried,  "  Bless  my  soul,  Eliza,  you  can't 
think  of  receiving  visitors,  with  our  poor  child  sick  in  the  next 
room?  It  's  inhuman  !"  the  scared  woman  ventured  on  no  re- 
monstrance. She  was  so  frightened  that  she  did  not  attempt  to 
6Cold  the  younger  children.  She  took  a  piece  of  work  and  sat 
among  them  furtively  weeping.  Their  artless  queries  and  un- 
seasonable laughter  stabbed  and  punished  the  matron.  You  see 
people  do  wrong  though  they  are  long  past  fifty  years  of  age. 
It  is  not  only  the  scholars,  but  the  ushers,  and  the  head-master 
himself,  who  sometimes  deserve  a  chastisement.  I,  for  my  part, 
hope  to  remember  this  sweet  truth  though  I  live  into  the  year 
1900. 

To  those  other  ladies  boarding  at  madame's  establishment,  to 
Mrs.  Mac,  and  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  though  they  had  declared 
against  him,  and  express*^  their  opinions  in  the  frankest  way  on 
the  night  of  the  battle  royal,  the  general  was  provokingly  polite 
and  amiable.  They  had  said,  but  twenty- four  hours  since,  that 
the  general  was  a  brute ;  and  Lord  Chesterfield  could  not  have 
been  more  polite  to  a  lovely  young  duchess  than  was  Baynes  to 
these  matrons  next  day.  You  have  heard  how  Mrs.  Mac  had  a 
strong  desire  to  possess  a  new  Paris  bonnet,  so  that  she  might 
appear  with  proper  lustre  among  the  ladies  on  the  promenade  at 
Tours.  Major  and  Mrs.  Mac  and  Mrs.  Bunch  talked  of  goiiig  to 
the  Palais  Royal  (where  MacWhirter  said  he  had  remarked  some 
uncommonly  neat  things,  by  George!  at  the  corner  shop  under 
the  glass  gallery).  On  this  Baynes  started  up,  and  said  he  would 
accompany  his  friends,  adding,  "  You  know,  Emily,  I  promised 
you  a  hat  ever  so  long  ago !"  And  those  four  went  away  together, 
and  not  one  offer  did  Baynes  make  to  his  wife  to  join  the  party ; 
though  her  best  bonnet,  poor  thing,  was  a  dreadfully  old  perform- 
ance, with  moulting  feathers,  rumpled  ribbons,  tarnished  flowers, 
and  lace  bought  in  St.  Martin's  aiiey  months  and  months  before. 
Emily,  to  be  sure,  said  to  her  sister,  "  Eliza,  won't  you  be  of  the 
party  V  We  can  take  the  omnibus  at  the  corner,  which  will 
land  us  at  the  very  gate."  But  as  Emily  gave  this  unlucky 
invitation  the  general's  face  wore  an  expression  of  ill-will  so  savage 
and  terrific  that  Eliza  Baynes  said  '-No — thank  you,  Emily; 
Charlotte  is  still  unwell,  and  I — I  may  be  wanted  at  home." 
And  the  party  went  away  without  Mrs.  Baynes ;  and  they  were 
absent  I  don't  kuow  how  long:  and  Emily  MacWhirter  came 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  321 

back  to  the  boarding-house  in  a  new  bonnet — the  sweetest  thing 
you  ever  saw  ! — green  pique  velvet,  with  a  ruche  full  of  rose-buds, 
and  a  bird  of  paradise  perched  on  the  top,  peeking-  at  a  bunch  of 
the  most  magnificent,  grapes,  poppies,  ears  of  corn,  barley,  etc., 
all  indicative  of  the  bounteous  autumn  season.  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  had  to  see  her  sister  return  home  in  this  elegant  bonnet; 
to  welcome  her ;  to  acquiesce  in  Emily's  remark  that  the  general 
had  done,  the  genteel  thing;  to  hear  how  the  party  had  farther 
been  to  Tortoni's,  and  had  ices ;  and  then  to  go  up  stairs  to  her 
own  room,  and  look  at  her  own  battered,  blowzy,  old  chapeau, 
with  its  limp  streamers,  hanging  from  its  peg.  This  humiliation, 
I  say,  Eliza  Baynes  had  to  bear  in  silence,  without  wincing,  and, 
if  possible,  a  smile  on  her  face. 

In  consequence  of  circumstances  before  indicated,  Miss  Char- 
lotte was  pronounced  to  be  very  much  better  when  her  papa 
returned  from  his  Palais  Royal  trip.  He  found  her  seated  on 
madame's  sofa,  pale,  but  with  the  wonted  sweetness  in  her  smile. 
He  kissed  and  caressed  her  with  many  tender  words.  I  dare  say 
he  told  her  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  he  loved  so  much  as 
his  Charlotte.  He  would  never  willingly  do  anything  to  give  her 
pain,  never  !  She  had  been  his  good  girl  and  his  blessing  all  his 
life  !  Ah  !  that  is  a  prettier  little  picture  to  imagine — that 
repentant  man,  and  his  chiW  clinging  to  him — than  the  tableau 
overhead,  viz  :  Mrs.  Baynes  looking  at  her  old  bonnet.  Not  one 
word  was  said  about  Philip  in  the  talk  between  Baynes  and  his 
daughter,  but  those  tender  paternal  looks  and  caresses  carried 
hope  into  Charlotte's  heart ;  and  when  her  papa  went  away 
(she  said  afterward  to  a  female  friend),  "  I  got  up  and  followed 
him,  intending  to  show  him  Philip's  letter.  But  at  the  door  I 
saw  mamma  coming  down  the  stairs  ;  and  she  looked  so  dreadful, 
and  frightened  me  so,  that  I  went  back."  There  are  some 
mothers  I  have  heard  of  who  won't  allow  their  daughters  to  read 
the  works  of  this  humble  homilist,  lest  they  should  imbibe 
"dangerous"  notions,  etc.,  etc.  My  good  ladies,  give  them 
Goody  Tivoshoes  if  you  like,  or  whatever  work,  combining  in- 
struction and  amusement,  you  think  most  appropriate  to  their 
juvenile  understandings  ;  but  I  beseech  you  to  be  gentle  with 
them.  I  never  saw  people  on  better  terms  with  eacn  other,  more 
frank,  affectionate,  and  cordial,  than  the  parents  and  the  grown- 
up young  folks  in  the  United  States.  And  why  ?  Because  the 
children  were  spoiled,  to  be  sure  !  I  say  to  you,  get  the  con- 
fidence of*youiv — before  the  day  comes  of  revolt  and  indepen- 
dence, after  which  love  returneth  not. 

Now,  when  Mrs,  Baynet  went  into  her  daughter,  who  had 
been  sitting  pretty  comfortably  kissing  her  father,  on  the  sofa  in 
madame's  chamber,  all  those  soft  tremulous  smiles  and  twinkling 
dew-drops  of  compassion  and  forgiveness  which  anon  had  come 
to  soothe  the  little  maid,  fled  from  cheek  and  eyes.  They  began 
28 


322  THE    ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP         * 

to  flash  again  with  their  febrile  brightness,  and  her  heart  to 
throb  with  dangerous  rapidity.  "  How  are  you,  now  ?"  asks 
mamma,  with  her  deep  voice.  "I  am  much  the  same,"  says  the 
girl,  beginning  to  tremble.  "  Leave  the  child  ;  you  agitate  her, 
madam,"  cries  the  mistress  of  the  house,  coming  in  after  Mrs. 
Baynes.  That  sad,  humiliated,  deserted  mother  goes  out  from 
her  daughter's  presence,  hanging  her  head.  She  put  on  the 
poor  old  bonnet,  and  had  a  walk  that  evening  on  the  .Champs 
Elysees  with  her  little  ones,  and  showed  them  Guignol;  she 
gave  a  penny  to  GuignoFs  man.  It  is  my  belief  that  she  saw  no 
more  of  the  performance  than  her  husband  had  seen  of  the 
ballet  the  night  previous,  when  Taglioni,  and  Noblet,  and  Duver- 
nay  danced  before  his  hot  eyes.  But  then,  you  see,  the  hot 
eyes  had  been  washed  with  a  refreshing  water  since,  which  en- 
abled them  to  see  the  world  much  more  cheerfully  and  brightly. 
Ah,  gracious  heaven  gives  us  eyes  to  see  our  own  wrong,  bow- 
ever  dim  age  may  make  them  ;  and  knees  not  too  stiff  to  kneel, 
in  spite  of  years,  cramps,  and  rheumatism !  That  stricken  old 
woman,  then,  treated  her  children  to  the  trivial  comedy  of 
Guignol.  She  did  not  cry  out  when  the  two  boys  climbed  up  the 
trees  of  the  Elysian  fields,  though  the  guardians  bade  them  de- 
scend ;  she  bought  pink  sticks  of  barley-sugar  for  the  young 
ones.  Withdrawing  glistening  sweetmeats  from  thejr  lips,  they 
pointed  to  Mrs.  Hely's  splendid  barouche  as  it  rolled  citywards 
from  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  The  gray  shades  were  falling,  and 
Auguste  was  in  the  act  of  ringing  the  first  dinner-bell  at 
Madame  Smolensk's  establishment  when  Mrs.  General  Baynes 
returned  to  her  lodgings. 

Meanwhile  aunt  MacWhirter  had  been  to  pay  a  visit  to  little 
Miss  Charlotte,  in  the  new  bonnet  which  the  general,  Charlotte's 
papa,  had  bought  for  her.  This  elegant  article  had  furnished  a 
subject  of  pleasing  conversation  between  niece  and  aunt,  who 
held  each  other  in  very  kindly  regard,  and'lall  the  details  of  the 
bonnet,  the  blue  flowers,  scarlet  flowers,  grapes,  sheaves  of  corn, 
lace,  etc.,  were  examined  and  admired  in  detail.  Charlotte 
remembered  the  dowdy  old  English  thing  which  aunt  Mac  wore 
when  she  went  out.  Charlotte  did  remember  thf  bonnet,  and 
laughed  when  Mrs.  Mac  described  how  papa,  in  the  hackney- 
coach,  on  their  return  home,  insisted  upon  taking  the  old  wretch 
of  a  bonnet,  and  flinging  it  out  of  the  coach-window  into  the 
road,  where  an  old  chiffonnier  passing  picked  it  up  with  his 
iron  hook,  put  it  on  his  own  head,  and  walked  away  grinning. 
I  declare,  at  the  recital  of  this  narrative,  Charlotte  laughed  as 
pleasantly  and  happily  as  in  forme*  days ;  and,  no  doubt,  there 
were  more  kisses  between  this  poor  little  maid  and  her  aunt. 

Now,  you  will  remark,  that  the  general  and  his  party,  though 
they  returned  from  the  Palais  Koyal  in  a  hackney-coach,  went 
thither  on  foot,  two  and  two — viz,.,  Major  MacWhirter  leading, 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE   WORLEu  323 

and  giving  1iis  arm  to  Mrs.  Bunch  (wiio,  I  promise  you,  knew  the 
shops  in  the  Palais  Royal  well),  and  the  general  following  at 
some  distance,  with  his  sister-in-law  for  a  partner. 

In  that  walk  a  conversation  very  important  to  Charlotte's 
interests  took  place  between  her  aunt  and  her  father. 

"Ah,  Baynes  !  this  is  a  sad  business  about  dearest  Char,"  Mrs. 
Mac  broke  out  with  a  sigh. 

"It  is,  indeed,  Emily,"  says  the  general,  with  a  very  sad  groan 
on  his  pa'rt. 

"It  goes  to  my  heart  to  see  you,  Baynes  ;*it  goes  to  Mac's 
heart.  We  talked  about  it  ever  so  late  last  night.  You  were 
suffering  dreadfully  ;  and  all  the  brandy-pawnee  in  the  world 
won't  cure  you,  Charles." 

"  No,  faith,"  says  the  generaP,  with  a  dismal  screw  of  the 
mouth.  "  You  see,  Emily,  to  see  that  child  suffer  tears  my  heart 
out — by  George,  it.does.  She  has  been  the  best  child,  and  the 
most  gentle,  and  the  merriest,  and  the  most  obedient,  and  I  never 
had  a  word  of  fault  to  find  with  her ;  and — poo-ooh !"  Here 
the  general's  eyes,  which  have  been  winking  with  extreme 
rapidity,  give  way  ;  and  at  the  signal  pooh !  there  issue  out 
from  them  two  streams  of  that  eye:water  which  we  have  said  is 
sometimes  so  good  for  the  sight. 

"  My  dear  kind  Charles,  you  were  always  a  good  creature," 
says  Emily,  patting  the  arm  on  which  hers  rests.  Meanwhile 
Major- General  Baynes,  C.B.,  puts  his  bamboo  cane  under  his 
disengaged  arm,  extracts  from  his  hind  pocket  a  fine  large  yellow 
bandana  pocket  handkerchief,  and  performs  a  prodigious  loud 
obligato — just  under  the  spray  of  the  Bond-point  fountain, 
opposite  the  Bridge  of  the  Invalides,  over  which  poor  Philip  has 
tramped  many  and  many  a  day  and  night  to  see  his  little  maid. 

"  Have  a  care  with  your  cane,  then,  old  imbecile  !"  cries  an 
approaching  foot-passenger,  whom  the  general  meets  and  charges 
with  his  iron  ferule. 

"  Mille  pardong,  mosoo,  je  vous  demande  mille  pardong"  says 
the  old  man,  quite  meekly. 

"  You  are  a  good  soul,  Charles,"  the  lady  continues  ;  "  and  my 
little  Char  ig  a  darling.  You  never  would  have  done  this  of 
your  own  accord.  Mercy  !  And  see  what  it  was  coming  to  ! 
Mac  only  told  me  last  night.  3Fou  horrid,  blood-thirsty  creature  ! 
Three  challenges — and  dearest  Mac  as  hot  as  pepper  !  Oh, 
Charles  Baynes,  I  tremble  when  I  think  of  the  danger  from 
which  you  have  all  been  rescued  !  Suppose  you  brought  home' 
to  Eliza — suppose  dearest  Mac  brought  home  to  me  killed  by 
this  arm  on  which  I  am  leaning.  Oh,  it  is  dreadful,  dreadful ! 
We  are  sinners,  all  that  we  are,  Baynes !" 

"  I  humbly  ask  pardon  for  having  thought  of  a  great  crime. 
I  ask  pardon,"  says  the  general,  very  pale  and  solemn. 


324  THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"  If  you  had  killed  dear  Mac,  would  you  ever  had  rest  again, 
Charles  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  think  not.  I  should  not  deserve  it,"  answers  the  con- 
trite Baynes. 

"  You  have  a  good  heart.  It  was  not  you  who  did  this.  I 
know  who  it  was.  She  always  had  a  dreadful  temper.  The 
way  in  which  she  used  to  torture  our  poor  dear  Louisa  who  is 
dead,  I  can  hardly  forgive  now,  Baynes.  Poor  suffering  angel ! 
Eliza  was  at  her  bedside  nagging  and  torturing  her  up  to  the 
very  last  day.  Did  you  ever  see  her  with  her  nurses  and  -ser- 
vants in  India  V     The  way  in  which  she  treated  them  was — " 

"  Don't  say  any  more.  I  am  aware  of  my  wife's  faults  of 
temper.  Heaven  knows  it  has  made  me  suffer  enough !"  says 
the  general,  hanging  his  head  down. 

"  Why,  man — do  you  intend  to  give  way  to  her  altogether  ? 
I  said  to  Mac  last  night, '  Mac,  does  he  intend  to  give  way  to  her 
altogether?  The  Army  List  doesn't  contain  the  name  of  a 
braver  man  than  Charles  Baynes,  and  is  my  sister  Eliza  to  rule 
him  entirely,  Mac  !'  I  said.  No ;  if  you  stand  up  to  Eliza,  I 
know  from  experience  she  will  give  way.  We  have  had  quar- 
rels, scores  and  hundreds,  as  you  know,  Baynes." 

"  Faith,  I  do,"  owns  the  general,  with  a  sad  smile  on  his 
countenance. 

"And  sometimes  she  has  had  the  best  and  sometimes  I  have 
had  the  best,  Baynes  !  But  I  never  yielded,  as  you  do,  without 
a  fight  for  my  own.  No,  never,  Baynes  !  And  me  and  Mac  are 
shocked,  I  tell  you,  fairly,  when  we  see  the  way  in  which  you 
give  up  to  her !" 

"  Come,  come.  I  think  you  have  told  me  often  enough  that  I 
am  hen-pecked,"  says  the  general. 

"And  you  give  up  not  yourself  only,  Charles,  but  your  dear, 
dear  child — poor  little  suffering  love !" 

"  The  young  man  's  a  beggar !"  cries  the  general,  biting  his 
lips. 

"  What  were  you,  what  was  Mac  and  me  when  we  married  ? 
We  had  n't  much  oesides  our  pay,  had  we  V  we  rubbed  on 
through  bad  weather  and  good,  managing  as  best  we  could, 
loving  each  other,  God  be  praised  !  And  here  we  are,  owing 
nobody  anything,  and  me  going  to  have  a  new  bonnet !"  and  she 
tossed  up  her  head,  and  gave  her  companion  a  good-natured 
look  through  her  twinkling  eyes. 

"  Emily,  you  have  a  good  heart !  that  's  the  truth,"  says  the 
general. 

"And  you  have  a  good  heart,  Charles,  as  sure  as  my  name  's 
MacWhirter  ;  and  I  want  you  to  act  upon  it,  and  I  propose — " 

"  What  V 

"  Well,  I  propose  that — "     But  now  they  have  reached  the 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  825 

Tuileries  garden  gates,  and  pass  through,  and  continue  their 
conversation  in  the  midst  of  such  a  hubbub  that  we  can  not 
overhear  them.  They  cross  the  garden,  and  so  make  their  way 
into  the  Palais  Royal,  and  the  purchase  of  the  bonnet  takes 
place  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  excitement  occasioned  by  that 
event,  of  course,  all  discission  of  domestic  affairs  becomes  unin- 
teresting. 

But  the  gist  of  Baynes'  talk  with  his  sister  in-law  may  be 
divined  from  the  conversation  which  presently  occurred  between 
Charlotte  and  her  aunt.  Charlotte  did  not  come  in  to  the  public 
dinner.  She  was  too  weak  for  that;  and  "  un  bon  bouillon** 
and  a  wing  of  fowl  were  served  to  her  in  the  private  apartment, 
where  she  had  been  reclining  all  day.  At  dessert,  however, 
Mrs.  Mac  Whirter  took  a  fine  bunch  of  grapes,  and  a  plump  rosy 
peach,  from  the  table,  and  carried  them  to  the  little  maid,  and 
their  interview  may  be  described  with  sufficient  accuracy,  though 
it  passed  without  other  witnesses. 

From  the  outbreak  on  the  previous  night  Charlotte  knew  that 
her  aunt  was  her  friend.  The  glances  of  Mrs.  MacWhirter's 
eyes,  and  the  expression  of  her  bony,  homely  face,  told  her  sym- 
pathy to  the  girl.  There  were  no  pallors  now,  no  angry  glances, 
no  heart-beating.  Miss  Char  could  even  make  a  little  joke 
when  her  aunt  appeared,  and  say,  "  What  beautiful  grapes  ! 
Why,  Aunt,  you  must  have  taken  them  out  of  the  new  bonnet  I" 

"  You  should  have  had  the  bird  of  paradise,  too,  dear,  only  I 
see  you  have  not  eaten  your  chicken !  She  is  a  kind  woman, 
Madame  Smolensk.  I  like  her.  She  gives  very  nice  dinners. 
I  can't  think  how  she  does  it  for  the  money,  I  am  sure  !" 

"  She  has  been  very,  very  kind  to  me  ;  and  I  love  her  with  all 
my  hsart !"  cries  Charlotte. 

"  Poor  darling !  We  have  all  our  trials,  and  yours  have  be- 
gun, my  love !" 

u  Yes,  indeed,  Aunt!"  whimpers  the  young  person;  upon 
which  osculation  possibly  takes  place. 

"My  dear!  when  your  papa  took  me  to  buy  the  bonnet  we 
had  a  lono  talk,  and  it  was  about  you." 

"About  me,  Aunt !"  warbles  Miss  Charlotte. 

"  He  would  not  take  mamma ;  he  would  only  go  with  me, 
alone.  I  knew  he  wanted  to  say  something  about  you;  and 
what  do  you  think  it  was  ?  My  dear,  you  have  been  very  much 
agitated  here.  You  and  your  poor  mamma  are  likely  to  disagree 
for  some  time.  She  will  drag  you  to  those  balls  and  fine  parties, 
and  bring  3011  those  fine  partners." 

"  Oh,  1  hate  them  !"  cries  Charlotte.  Poor  little  Walsingham 
Hely,  what  had  he  done  to  be  hated  V 

"  Well.  It  is  not  for  me  to  speak  of  a  mother  to  her  own 
daughter.  But  you  know  mamma  has  a  way  with  her.  She 
expects  to  be  obeyed.     She  will  give  you  no  peace.     She  will 


I 


326  THE    ADVENTURES    OP   PHILIP 

come  back  to  her  point  again  and  again.  You  know  how  she 
speaks  of  some  one — a  certain  gentleman  ?  If  ever  she  sees  him 
she  will  be  rude  to  him.  Mamma  can  be  rude  at  times — that  I 
must  say  of  my  own  sister.     As  long  as  you  remain  here — " 

"  Oh,  Aunt,  Aunt !  Don't  take  me  away,  don't  take  me 
away !"  cries  Charlotte. 

"My  dearest,  are  you" afraid  of  your  old  aunt  and  your  uncle 
Mac,  who  is  so  kind,  and  has  always  loved  you  ?  Major  Mac- 
Whirter  has  a  will  of  his  own,  too,  though  of  course  I  make  no 
allusions.  We  know  how  admirably  somebody  has  behaved  to 
your  family.  Somebody  who  has  been  most  ungratefully  treated, 
though  of  course  I  make  no  allusions.  If  you  have  given  away 
your  heart  to  your  father's  greatest  benefactor,  do  you  suppose  I 
and  uncle  Mac  will  quarrel  with  you  ?  When  Eliza  married 
Baynes  (your  father  was  a  penniless  subaltern  then,  my  d£ar — 
and  my  sister  was  certainly  neither  a  fortune  nor  a  beauty), 
did  n't  she  go  dead  against  the  wishes  of  our  father  ?  Certainly 
she  did  1  But  she  said  she  was  of  age,  that  she  was,  and  a  great 
deal  more,  too — and  she  would  do  as  she  liked,  and  she  made 
Baynes  marry  her.  Why  should  you  be  afraid  of  coming  to  us, 
love  ?  You  are  nearer  somebody  here,  but  can  you  see  him  ? 
Your  mamma  will  never  let  you  go  out,  but  she  will  follow  you 
like  a  shadow.  You  may  write  to  him.  Don't  tell  me,  child. 
Have  n't  I  been  young  myself;  and  when  there  was  a  difficulty 
between  Mac  and  poor  papa,  did  n't  Mac  write  to  me,  though  he 
hates  letters,  poor  dear,  and  certainly  is  a  stick  at  them?  And, 
though  we  were  forbidden,  had  we  not  twenty  ways  of  telegraph- 
ing to  each  other  ?*  Law  !  your  poor  dear  grandfather  was  in 
such  a  rage  with  me  once,  when  he  found  one,  that  he  took  down 
his  great  buggy-whip  to  me,  a  grown  girl !" 

Charlotte,  who  has  plenty  of  humor,  would  have  laughed  at 
this  confession  some  other  time,  but  now  she  was  too  much  agi- 
tated by  th»at  invitation  to  quit  Paris,  which  her  aunt  had  just 
given  her.  Quit  Paris  ?  Lose  the  chance  of  seeing  her  dearest 
friend,  her  protector  ?  If  he  was  not  with  her,  was  he  not  near 
her?"  Yesterday  night,  that  horrible  yesterday — when  all  was 
so  wretched,  so  desperate,  did  not  her  champion  burst  forward  to 
her  rescue  ? 

"  You  are  not  listening,  you  poor  child  !"  said  aunt  Mac,  sur- 
veying her  niece  with  looks  of  kindness.  u  Now  listen  to  me 
once  more.  Whisper !"  And  sitting  down  on  the  settee  by 
Charlotte's  side,  aunt  Emily  first  kissed  the  girl's  round  cheek 
and  then  whispered  into  her  ear. 

Never,  I  declare,  was  medicine  so  efficacious,  or  rapid  of 
effect,  as  that  wondrous  distilmpnt  which  aunt  Emily  poured  into 
her  niece's  ear!  "  Oh,  you  godse !"  she  began  by  saying,  and 
the  rest  of  the  charm  she  whispered  into  that  pearly  little  pink 
shell  round  which  Miss  Charlotte's  soil  brown  ringlets  clustered. 


ON   niS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  327 

Such  a  sweet  blush  rose  straightway  to  the  cheek  !  Such  sweet 
lips  began  to  cry,  "  Oh,  you  dear,  dear  Aunt !"  and  then  began 
to  kiss  aunt's  kind  face,  that,  I  declare,  if  I  knew  the  spell,  I 
would  like  to  -pronounce  it  right  off,  with  such  a  sweet  youno- 
patient  to  practice  on. 

"  When  do  we  go?  Tomorrow,  Aunt,  n'est  ce  pas  f  Oh,  I 
am  quite  strong  !  never  felt  so  well  in  my  life.  I  '11  go  and  pack 
up  this  instant!"  cries  the  young  person. 

"Doucement!  Papa  knows  of  the  plan.  Indeed  it  was  he  who 
proposed  it." 

"  Dearest,  best  father !"  ejaculates  Miss  Charlotte. 

"But  mamma  does  not;  and  if  you  show  yourself  very  eager, 
Charlotte,  she  may  object,  you  know.  Heavqn  forbid  that  / 
should  counsel  dissimulation  to  a  child ;  but,  under  the  circum- 
stances, my  love —  At  least  I  own  what  happened  between  Mac 
and  me.  Law  !  /  did  n't  care  for  papa's  buggy-whip  !  I  knew 
it  would  not  hurt ;  and  as  for  Baynes,  I  am  sure  he  would  not 
hurt  a  tiy.  Never  was  man  more  sorry  for  what  he  has. done. 
He  told  me  so  while  we  walked  away  from  the  bonnet-shop,  while 
he  was  carrying  my  old  yellow.  We  met  somebody  near  the 
Bourse.  How  sad  he  looked,  and  how  handsome  too !  /  bowed 
to  him  and  kissed  my  hand  to  him,  that  is,  the  nob  of  mv  para- 
sol. Papa  could  n't  shake  hands  with  him,  because  of  my  bon- 
net, you  know,  in  the  brown-paper  bag.  lie  has  a  grand  beard 
indeed!  He  looked  like  a  wounded  lion.  I  said  so  to  papa. 
And  I  said,  'It  is  you  who  wound  him,  Charles  Baynes!'  'I 
know  that,'  papa  said.  'I  have  been  thinking  of  it.  I  can't 
sleep  at  night  for  thinking  about  it;  and  it  makes  me  deed  un- 
happy.' You"  know  what  papa  sometimes  says?  Dear  me! 
You  should  have  heard  them  when  I  and  Eliza  joined  the  army, 
years  and  years  ago!'' 

For  once  Charlotte  Baynes  was  happy  at  her  father's  being 
unhappy.  The  little  maiden's  heart  had  been  wounded  to  think 
that  her  father  could  do  his  Charlotte  a  wrong.  Ah  !  take  warn- 
ing by  him,  ye  gray-beards  !  And  however  old  and  toothless, 
if  you  have  done  wrong,  own  that  you  have  done  so  ;  and  sit 
down  and  mumble  your  humble  pie  ! 

The  general,  then,  did  not  shake  hands  with  Philip  ;  but  Ma- 
jor MaeWhirter  went  up  in  the  most  marked  way,  afid  gave 
the  wounded  lion  his  own  paw,  and  said,  "  Mr.  Firmin.  Glad 
to  see  you  !  If  ever  you  come  to  Tours,  mind,  don't  forget  my 
wife  and  ^e.  Fine  day.  Little  patient,  much  better !  Bon 
courage,  as  they  say  !" 

I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  bungle  Philip  made  of  his  correspon- 
dence with  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  that  night  ?  Every  man  who 
lives  by  his  pen,  if  by  chance  he  looks  back  at  his  writings  of 
former  years,  lives  in  the  past  again.  Our  griefs,  our  pleasures, 
our  youth,  our  sorrows,  our  dear,  dear  friends,  resuscitate.  How 


328  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

we  tingle  with  shame  over  some  of  those  fine  passages!  How 
dreary  are  those  disinterred  jokes!  Jt  was  Wednesday  night, 
Philip  was  writing  off  at  home,  in  his  inn,  one  of  his  grand 
tirades,  dated  "Paris.  Thursday" — so  as  to  he  in  time,  you  un- 
derstand, for  the  post  of  Saturday,  when  the  little  waiter  comes 
and  says,  winking,  "  Again  that  lady,  Monsieur  Philippe  !" 

"  What  lady  V"  asks  our  own  intelligent  correspondent. 

'*  That  old  lady  who  came  the  other  day,  you  know." 

"tC'est  moi,  won  and!"  ones  Madame  Smolensk's  well-known 
grave  voice.  "  Here  is  a  letter,  d'abcrd.  But  that  says  noth- 
ing. It  was  written  before  the  grande  nouvelle — the  great  news 
— the  good  news  !" 

"  What  good'news?"  asks  the  gentleman. 

"  In  two  days"  Miss  goes  to  Tcurs  with  htr  aunt  and  uncle — 
this  good  Maeviiterre.  They  have  taken  their  places  by  the 
diligence  of  Lafitte  and  Caillard.  They  are  thy  friends.  Papa 
encourages  her  going.  Here  is  their  card  of  visit.  Go  thou 
also  ;  they  will  receive  thee  with  open  arms.  What  hast  thou, 
my  son?" 

Philip  looked  dreadfully  sad.  An  injured  and  unfortunate  gen- 
tleman at  New  Yo7k  had  drawn  upon  him,  and  he  had  paid 
away  everything  he  had  but  four  francs,  and  he  was  living  on 
credit  until  his  next  remittance  arrived. 

"  Thou  hast  no  money  !  I  have  thought  of  it.  Behold  of  it ! 
Let  him  wait — the  propi  ietor  !"  And  she  takes  out  a  bank-note, 
which  she  puts  in  the  young  man's  hand. 

"  Tims,  il  I'embrasse  encor  c'te  vielle  /"  says  the  little  knife- 
boy.     "  Taimerai  pas  fa,  moi,  par  examp  /" 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

in  the  departments  of  seine,   loire,  and  styx  (ln«  • 

fkrieur). 

Our  dear  friend  Mrs.  Baynes  was  suffering  under  the  influ- 
ence of  one  of  those  panics  which  sometimes'  seized  her,  and 
during  which  she  remained  her  husband's  most  obedient  Eliza 
and  vassal.  When  Baynes  wore  a  certain  expression  of  coun- 
tenance, we  have  said  that  his  wife  knew  resistance  to  be. use- 
less. That  expression,  I  suppose,  he  assumed  when  he  an- 
nounced Charlotte's  departure  to  her  mother,  and  ordered  Mrs. 
General  Baynes  to  make  the  necessary  preparations  for  the  girl. 
"  She  might  stay  sometime  with  her  aunt,"  Baynes  stated.  "  A 
change  of  air  would  do  the  child  a  great  deal  of  good.  Let 
everything  necessary  in  the  shape  oi*  hats,  bonnets,  winter 
clothes,  and  so  forth,  be  got  ready."  "  Was  Char,  then,  to 
stay  away  so  long  ?"  asked  Mrs.  B.     "  She  has  been  so  happy 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  329 

here  that  mtipt  to  keep  her,  and  fancy  she  can't  be  happy 
without  you  !     I  eari/ancy  the  general  grimly  replying  to  the 
partner  of  bis  existence.     Hanging  down   her  wfthered  head, 
with  a  (ear  mayhap  trickling  down   her  check,  I  can  fancy  the 
old  woman  silently  departing  to  do  the  bidding  of  her  lord."  She 
selects  a  trunk  out  of  the  store  of  Baynes'  baggage,     A  young 
lady  g  trunk  was  a  trunk  in  those  days.     Now  it  is  a  twor  three* 
storied  edifice  of  wood,  in  which  two  or  three  full-grown  bodies  of 
young   ladies  (without  crinoline)  might  be  packed        I  saw  a 
ittle  old  country-woman  at  the  Folkestone  station  last  year  with 
her  travelling  baggage  contained  in  a  bandbox  tied  up  in  an. 
old  cotton  handkerchief  haneing  on  her  arm  ;  and  she  surveyed 
J.adv  Knightsbndge's  twenty-three  black  trunks,  each  well-nirrh 
as  large  as  her  ladyship's  opera-box.     Before  these  great  edi- 
Uces  that  o  d  woman  stood  wondering  dumblv.     That  old  lady 
and  I  had  lived  in  a  time  when  crinoline  was  not ;  and   yet    I 
think,  women-  looked  even  prettier  in  that  time  than  they  do- 
now.     Well,  a  trunk* and  a  bandbox  were  fetched  out  of   the 
baggage-neto  for  little  Charlotte,  and  I  dare  say  her  little  broth- 
ers juaaped  and  danced  on  the  box  with  much  energy  to  make 
the  hd  shut,  and  the  general  brought  out  his  hammer  and  nails, 
and  nailed    a   card   on  the   box  with   "Mademoiselle   Baynes" 
thereon  printed.     And  mamma  had  to  look  on  and  witness  those 
preparations.     And  Wafemgbam  Hely  had  called  ;  and  he  would 
not  call  again,  she  knew  ;  and  that  fair  chance  for  the  establish- 
men    of  her  child  was  lost  by  the  obstinacy  of  her  self-willed, 
reckless  husband.     That  woman  had  to  water  her  soup  with  her 
furtive   tears,   to  sit  of  nights  behind    hearts  and  spades,  and 
brood  01  er  her  crushed  hopes.     ]f  I  contemplate  that  wretched 
old  Niobe  much  longer  1  shall  begin  to  pity  her.    Away,  softness  ! 
lake  out   thy  arrows,  the  poisoned,  the  barbed,  the  rankling 
and  prod  me  the  old  creature  well,  god  of  the  silver  bow  !    Eliza 
tfaynes  had  to  look  on,  then,  and  see  the  trunks  packed— to 
see  her  own   authority  over  her  own  daughter  wrested   away 

™T    .  P~/°  SGe  the  undutiful  8irl  FfTare  with  perfect  delight 
and  alacrity  to  go  away,  without  feeling  a  pang  at  leaving  a 

nn W       1 7l°r W  nUrSed  Ler  throuSh  Averse  illnesses,  who  had 
scolded  her  for  seventeen  years. 

T  Jw#en"ral  accomP?nit-id  the  party  to  the  diligence-office. 
iattle  Char  was  very  pale  and  melancholy  indeed  when  she  took 
her  Pace  in  the  coupe.  "She  should  have  a  corner;  she  had 
been  ill,  and  ought  to  have  a  corner,"  uncle  Mac  said,  and  cheer- 
eat3 If  ,°  bG  b°()kin-  ,  °!r  three  IWW'ftkttd.  are 
seated.  ILe  other  passengers  clamber  into  their  places.  Away 
goes   the  clattering  team  as  the  general  waves  an  adieu  to  bis 

bre'ed8;    £&?*»  *?  **?  iho™  «"*  Normans    famos 
breed,  indeed,"  he  remarks  to  his  wife  on  his  return. 


830  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"  Indeed,"  she  echoes.  "  Pray,  in  what  part  of  the  carriage 
was  Mr.  Firmin  ?".  she  presently  ask's.         •        » 

"  In  no  part  of  the  carriage  at  all !"  Baynes  answers,  fiercely, 
turning  beet-root  red.  And  thus,  though  she  had  been  silent, 
obedient,*  hanging  her  head,  the  wBbaan  showed  that  she  was 
aware  of  her  master's  schemes,  and  why  her  girl  had  been 
taken  away.  She  knew  ;  but  she  was  beaten.  It  remained  for 
her  but  to  be  silent  and  bow  her  head.  I  dare  say  she  did  not 
sleep  one  wink  that  night.  She  followed  the  'diligence  in  its 
journey.  "  Char  is  gone,"  she  thought.  "  Yes  ;  in  due  time  he 
will  take  from  me  the  obedience  of  my  other  children,  and  tear 
them  out  of  my  lap."  He— that,  is,  the  general — was  sleeping 
meanwhile.  He  had  had,  in  the  last  few  days,  four  awful  battles- 
— with  his  child,  with  his  friends,  with  his  wife — in  which  lat- 
ter combat  he  had  been  conqueror.  No  wonder  Baynes  was 
tired  and  needed  rest.  Any  one  «of  those  engagements  was 
enough  to  weary  the  veteran. 

If  we  take  the  liberty  of  looking  into  double-bedded  rooms, 
and  peering  into  the  thoughts  which  are  passing  under  private 
nightcaps,  may  we  not  examine  the  coupe'  of  a  jingling  dili- 
gence with  an  open  window,  in  which  a  young  lady  sits  wide 
awake  by  the  side  of  her  uncle  and  aunt  V  These,  perhaps, 
are  asleep  ;  but  she  is  not.  Ah!  she  is  thinking  of  another  jour- 
ney !  that  blissful  one  from  Boulogne,  when  he  was  there  yonder 
in  the  imperial,  by  the  side  of  the  conductor.  When  the  Mac^ 
Whirter  party  had  come  to  the  diligence-office,  how  her  little 
heari,  had  beat !  How  she  had  looked  under  the  lamps  at  all 
the  people  lounging  about  the  court !  How  she  had  listened 
when  the  clerk  called  out  the  names  of  the  passengers ;  and, 
mercy,  what  a  fright  she  had  been  in,*lest  he  should  be  there 
after  all,  while  she  stood  yet  leaning  on  her  father's  arm !  But 
there  was  no —  Well,  names,  I  think,  need  scarcely  be  men- 
tioned. There  was  no  sign  of  the  individual  in  questiou.  Papa 
kissed  her,  and  sadly  said  good-by.  Good  Madame  Smo- 
lensk came  with  an  -adieu  and  an  embrace  for  her  dear  Miss, 
and  whispered,  "  Courage,  nioti  enfant ;"  and  then  said,  "  Hold, 
I  have  brought  you  some  bonbons."  There  they  were  in  a 
little  packet.  Little  Charlotte  put  the  packet  into  her  little 
basket.  Away  goes  the  diligence,  but  the  individual  had  made 
no  sign. 

Away  goes  the  diligence  ;  and  every  now  and  then  Charlotte 
feels- the  little  packet  in  her  little  basket.  What  does  it  contain — - 
oh,  what  ?  If  Charlotte  could  but  read  with  her  heart,  ske 
-would  see  into  that  little  packet — the  sweetest  bonbon  of  all 
perhaps  it  might  be,  or,  ah  me!  the  bitterest  almond  !  Through 
the  night  goes  the  diligence,  passing  relay  after  relay.  Uncle 
Mae  sleeps.     I  think  1  have  said  he  snored.     Aunt  Mac  is  quite 


ON    HIS   WAY   THROUGn   THE    WORLD.  331 

silent,  and  Char  sits  plaintively  with  her  lonely  thoughts  and  her 
bonbons,  as  miles,  hours,  relays  pass. 

"  These  ladles,  will  they  descend  and  take  a  cup  of  coffee,  a  cup  of 
bouillon  ?"  at  last  cries  a  waiter  at  the  coupe  door,  as  the  carri- 
age stops,  in  Orleans.  "  By  all  means  a  cup  of  coffee,"  says 
aunt  Mac.  "  The  little  Orleans  wine  is  good,"  cries  uncle  Mac. 
"  Descendons!"  "  This  way,  Madame,"  says  the  waiter.  "  Char- 
lotte, my  love,  some  coffee  ?" 

"  I  will — I  will  stay  in  the  carriage.  I  don't  want  anything, 
thank  you,"  says  Miss  Charlotte.  And  the  instant  her  relations 
are  gone,  entering  the  gate  of  the  Lion  Noir,  where,  you  know, 
are  the  Bureaux  des  Messageries,  Laiitte,  Caillard,  et  Cie — I  say, 
on  the  very  instant  when  her  relations  have  disappeared,  what 
do  you  think  Miss  Charlotte  does  ? 

She  opens  that  packet  of  bonbons  with  fingers  that  tremble — ■ 
tremble  so,  I  wonder  how  she  could  updo  the  knot  of  the  string 
(or  do  you  think  she  had  untied  that  knot  under  her  shawl  in 
the  dark  ?  I  can't  say.  We  never  shall  know.)  Well  ;  sue 
opens -the  packet.  She  does  not  care  one  fig  for  the  lollipops, 
almonds,  and  so  forth.  She  pounces  on  a  little  scrap  of  paper, 
and  is  going  td  read  it  by  the  lights  of  the  steaming  stable  lan- 
terns, when — oh,  what  made  her  start  so  ? 

In  those  old  days  there  used  to  be  two  diligences  which  trav- 
elled nightly  to  Tours,  setting  out  at  the  same  hour,  and  stop- 
ping at  almost  the  same  relays.  The  diligence  of  Lafitte  and 
Caillard  supped  at  the  Lion  Noir  at  Orleans — the  diligence  of 
the  Messageries  Eoyales  stopped  at  the  Ecu  de  France,  hard 
by. 

Well,  as  the  Messageries  Royales  are  supping  at  the  Ecu  de 
France,  a  passenger  strolls  over  from  that  coach,  and  strolls  and 
strolls  until  he  comes  to  the  coach  of  Lafitte,  Caillard,  and  Com- 
pany, and  to  the  coupe  window  where  Miss  Baynes  is  trying  to 
decipher  her  bonbon. 

He  comes  .up— and  as  the  night-lamps  fall  on  his  face  and 
beard — his  rosy  face,  his  yellow  beard — oh  !  *Wh#t  means  that 
scream  of  the  young  lady  in  the  coupe  of  Lafitte,  Caillard,  et 
Compagnie  !  I  declare  she  has  dropped  the  letter  which  she 
was  about  to  read.  It  has  dropped  into  a  pool  of  mud  under  the 
diligence  olF  fore-wheel.  And  he  with  the  yellow  beard,  and  a 
sweet  happy,  laugh,  and  a  tremble  in  his  deep  voice,  says,  u  You 
need  not  read  it.     It  was  only  to  tell  you  what  you  know." 

Then  the  coupe  window  says,  "  Oh,  Philip  !  Oh,  my — " 

My  what  ?  You  can  not  hear  the  words,  because  the  gray 
Norman  horses  come  squealing  and  clattering  up  to  their  coach- 
pole  with  such  accompanying  cries  and  imprecations  from  the 
horsekeepers  and  postillions  that  ho  wonder  the  little  warble  is 
lost.  If  was  not  intended  for  you  and  me  to  hear  ;  but  perhaps 
you  can  guess  the  purport  of  the  words.     Perhaps  in  quite  old, 


332  THE    ADVENTURES    OP    PHILIP 

old  flays,  you  may  remember  having  beard  such  little  whispers, 
in  a  time  when  the  song-birds  in  your  grove  carolled  that  kind 
of  song  very  pleasantly  and  freely.  But  this,  my  good  madam, 
is  ja  February  number.  The  birds  are  gone  :  the  branches  are 
bare  :  the  gardener  has  actually  swept  the  leaves  off  the  walks; 
and  the  whole  affair  is  an  affair  of  a  past  year,  you  understand. 
Well  !  carpe  diem,  fugit  hora,  etc.  etc.  There,  for  one  minute, 
for  two  minutes,  stands  Philip  over  the  diligence  off  fore-wheel, 
talking  to  Charlotte  at  the  window,  and  their  heads  are  quite 
close — quite  close.  What  are  those  two  pairs  of  lips  warbling, 
whispering  ?  "Hi!  Gare  !  Ohe !"  The  horsekeepers,  I  say, 
quite  prevent  you  from  hearing ;  and  here  come  the  passengers 
out  of  the  Lion  Noir,  aunt  Mac  still  munching  a  great  slice  of 
bread-and-butter.  Charlotte  is  quite  comfortable,  and  does  not 
want  anything,  dear  aunt,  thank  you.  I  hope  she  nestles  in  her 
corner  and  has  a  sweet  slumber.  On  the  journey  the  twin  dili- 
gences pass  and  repass  each  other.  Perhaps  Charlotte  looks  out 
of  ner  window  sometimes  and  toward  the  other  carriage.  I  don't 
know.  It  is  a  long  time  ago.  What  used  you  to  do  in  old  days, 
ere  railroads  were,  and  when  diligences  ran  ?  They  were  slow 
enough :  but  they  have  got  to  their  journey's  end  somehow. 
They  were  tight,  hot,  dusty,  dear,  stuffy,  and  uncomfortable ; 
but  for  all  that,  travelling  was  good,  sport  sometimes.  And  if 
the  world  would  have  the  kindness  to  go  back  for  five-and-twenty 
or  thirty  years,  some  of  us  who  have  travelled  on  the  Tours 
and  Orleans  railway  very  comfortably  would  like  to  take  the 
diligence  journey  now. 

Having  myself  seen  the  City  of  Tours  only  last  year,  of  course 
I  don't  remember  much  about  it.  A  man  remembers  boyhood, 
and  the  first  sight  of  Calais,  and  so  forth.  But  after  much  travel 
or  converse  with  the  world,  to  see  a  new  town  is  to  be  intro- 
duced to  Jones.  He  is  like  Brown  ;  he  is  not  unlike  Smith.  In 
a  little  while  you  hash  him  up  with  Thompson.  I  dare  not  be 
particular,  then,  regarding  Mr.  *Firmin's  life  at  Tours,  lest  I 
should  make  ^>pographical  errors,  for  which  the  critical  school- 
master would  justly  inflict  chastisement.  In  the  last  novel  I 
read  about  Tours  there  were  blunders  from  the  effect  of  which 
you  know  the  wretched  author  never  recovered.  It  was  by  one 
Scott,  and  had  young  Quentin  Durward  for  a  hero,  and  Isabel 
de  Croye  for  a  heroine  ;  and  she  sate  in  her  hostel,  and  sang, 
"  Ah,  County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh."  A  pretty  ballad  enough; 
but  what  ignorance,  my  dear  sir  !  What  descriptions  of  Tours, 
of  Liege,  are  in  that  iallacious  story  !  Yes,  so  fallacious  and  mis- 
leading, that  I  remember  I  was  sorry,  not  because  the  descrip- 
tion was  unlike  Tours,  but  because  Tours  was  unlike  the  de- 
scription. m 

So  Quentin  Firmin  went  and  put  up  at  the  snug  little  hostel 
of  the  Faisan;  and  Isabel  de  Bay nes  took  up  her  abode  with  her 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  338 

uncle,  .the  Sire  de  MacWhirter ;  and  I  believe  Master  Firmin 
had  do  more  money  in  his  pocket  than  the  Master  Durward 
whose  story  the  Scottish  novelist  told  some  forty  years  since. 
And  I  can  not  promise  you  that  our  young  English  adventurer 
shall  marry  a  noble  heiress  of  vast  property,  and  engage  the 
Boar  of  Ardennes  in  a  hand-to-hand  combat ;  that  sort  of  Boar, 
madam,  does  not  appear  in  our  modern  drawing-room  histories. 
Of  others,  not  wild,  there  be  plenty.  They  gore  you  in  clubs. 
They  seize  you  by  the  doublet,  and  pin  you  against  posts  in  pub- 
lic streets.  They  run  at  you  in  parks.  I  have  seen  them  sit  at 
bay  after  dinner,  ripping,  gashing,  tossing  a  whole  company. 
These  our  young  adventurer  had  in  good  sooth  to  encounter,  as 
is  the  case  with  mos£  knights.  Who  escapes  them  ?  I  remem- 
ber an  eminent  person  talking  to  me  about  bores  for  two  hours 
once.  O  you  stupid  eminent  person  !  You  never  knew  that 
you  yourself  had  tusks,  little  eyes  in  your  hwe ;  a  bristly  mane 
to  cut  into  tooth-brushes ;  and  a  curly  tail  !  I  have  a  notion 
that  the  multitude  of  bores  \s  enormous  in  the  world.  If  a  man. 
is  a  bore  himself,  when  he  is  bored — and  you  can't  deny  this 
statement — then  what  am  I,  what  are  you,  what  your  father, 
grandfather,  son — all  your  amiable  acquaintance,  in  a  word  ? 
Of  this  I  am  sure.  Major  and  Mrs.  MacWhirter  were  not  bril- 
liant in  conversation.  What  would  you  and  I  do,  or  say,  if  we 
listen  to  the  tittle-tattle  of  Tours  ?  How  the  clergyman  was 
certainly  too  fond  of  cards  and  going  to  the  cafe  ;  how  the  din- 
ners those  Popjoys  gave  were  too  absurdly  ostentatious  ;  and 
Popjoy,  we  know,  in  the  Bench  last  year.  How  Mr.  Flights, 
going  on  with  that  major  of  French  carabineers,  was  really  too, 
etc.,  etc.  "  How  could  I  endure  those  people  V"  Philip  would 
ask  himself,  when  talking  of  that  personage  in  after-days,  as  he 
loved  and  loves  to  do.  "  How  could  I  endure  them,  I  say  !  Mac 
was  a  good  man  ;  but  I  knew  secretly  in  my  heart,  sir,  that  he 
was  a  bore.  Well :  I  loved  him.  I  liked  his  old  stories.  I 
liked  his  bad  old  dinners  :  there  is  a  very  comfortable  Touraine 
wine,  by  the  way  :  a  very  warming  little  wine,  sir.  Mrs.  Mac 
you  never  saw,  my  good  Mrs.  Pendenuis.  Be  sure  of  this,  you 
never  would  have  liked  her.  Well,  1  did.  I  liked  her  house, 
though  it  was  damp,  in  a  damp  garden,  frequented  by  dull  peo- 
ple. I  should  like  to  go  and  see  that  old  house  now.  I  am  per- 
fectly happy  with  my  wife,  but  I  sometimes  go  away  from  her  to 
enjoy  the  luxury  of  living  over  our  old  days  again.  With  nothing 
in  the  world  but  an  allowance  which  was  precarious,  and  had 
been  spent  in  advance  ;*  with  no  particular  plans  for  the  future, 
and  a  few  five-franc  pieces  for  the  present — by  Jove,  sjr  1  how 
did  I  dare  to  be  so  happy  ?  What  idiots  we  were,  my  love,  to 
be  happy  at  all  !  We  were  mad  to  marry.  Don't  tell  me  :  with 
a  purse  which  did  n't  contain  three  months'  consumption,  would 
we  dare  to  marry  now  V     We  should  be  put  into  the  mad-ward 


334  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    THILIP 

of  the  workhouse :  that  would  be  the  only  place  for  us.  Talk 
about  trusting  in  heaven  !  Stuff  and  nonsense,  maam  !  I  have 
as  good  a  right  to  go  and  buy  a  house  in  Belgrave  square,  and 
trust  to  heaven  for  the  payment,  as  I  had  to  marry  when  I  did. 
We  were  paupers,  Mrs.  Char,  and  you  know  that  very  well !" 

"  Oh  yes.  •  We  were  very  wrong — very  !"  says  Mrs.  Char- 
lotte, looking  up  to  the  chandelier  of  her  ceiling  (which,  by  the 
way,  is  of  very  handsome  Venetian  old  glass).  "  We  were  very 
wrong,  were  not  we,  my  dearest  ?"  And  herewith  she  will  be- 
gin to  kiss  and  fondle  two  or  more  babies  that  disport  in  her 
room — as  if  two  or  more  babies  had  anything  to  do  with  Philip's 
argument,  that  a  man  has  no  right  to  marry  who  ljas  no  pretty 
well-assured  means  of  keeping  a  wife. 

Here,  then,  by  the  banks  of  the  Loire,  although  Philip  had 
but  a  very  few  francs  in  his  pocket,  and  was  obliged  to  keep  a 
sharp  lookout  on  his  expenses  at  the  Hotel  of  the  Golden 
Pheasant,  he  passed  a  fortnight  of  such  happiness  as  I,  for  my 
part,  wish  to  all  young  folks  who  read  his  veracious  history. 
Though  he  was  so  poor,  and  ate  and  drank  so  modestly  in  the 
house,  the  maids,  waiters,  the  landlady  of  the  Pheasant,  were  as 
civil  to  him — yes,  as  civil  as  they  were  to  the  gouty  old  Mar- 
chioness of*  Carabas  nerself,  who  staid  here  on  her  way  to  the 
south,  occupied  the  grand  apartments,  quarrelled  with  her  lodg- 
ing, dinner,  breakfast,  bread-and-butter  in  general,  insulted  the 
landlady  in  bad  French,  and  only  paid  her  bill  under  compul- 
sion. Philip's  was  a  little  bill,  but  he  paid  it  cheerfully.  He 
gave  only  a  small  gratuity  to  the-  servants,  but  he  was  kind  and 
hearty,  and  they  knew  he  was  poor.  He. was  kind  and  hearty, 
I  suppose,  because  he  was  so'  happy.  I  have  known  the  gentle- 
man to  be  by  no  means  civil ;  and  have  heard  him  storm,  and 
hector,  and  browbeat  landlords  and  waiters  as  fiercely  as  the 
Marquis  of  Carabas  himself.  But  now  Philip  the  Bear  was  the 
most  gentle  of  bears,  because  his  little  Charlotte  was  leading 
him. 

Away  with  trouble  and  doubt,  with  squeamish  pride  and 
gloomy  care  !  Philip  had  enough  money  for  a  fortnight,  during 
which  Tom  Glazier,  of  the  Monitor,  promised  to  supply  Philip's 
letters  for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  All  the  designs  of  France, 
Spain,  Russia,  gave  that  idle  "  own  correspondent "  not  the 
slightest  anxiety.  In  the  morning  it  was  Miss  Baynes;  in  the 
afternoon  it  was  Miss  Baynes.  At  six  it  was  dinner  and  Char- 
lotte ;  at  nine  it  was  Charlotte  and  tea.  "  Any  how,  love-making 
does  not  spoil  his  appetite,"  Major  MacWhirter  correctly  re- 
marked. Indeed,  Philip  had  a  glorious  appetite  ;  and  health 
bloomed  in  Miss  Charlotte's  cheek,  and  beamed  in  her  happy 
little  heart.  Dr.  Firmin,  in  the  height  of  his  practice,  never 
completed  a  cure  more  skilfully  than  that  which  was  performed , 
by  Dr.  Firmin,  Junior. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  334 

"  I  ran  the  thing  so  close,  sir,"  I  remember  Philip  bawling 
out,  in  his  usual  energetic  way,  while  describing  this  period  of 
his  life's  greatest  happiness  to  his  biographer,  "  that  I  came  back 
to  Paris  outside  the  diligence,  and  had  not  money  enough  to 
dine  on  the  road.  But  I ^bought  a  sausage,  sir,  and  a  bit.  of 
biead — and  a  brutal  sausage  it  was,  sir — and  I  reached  my  lodg- 
ings with  exactly  two  sous  in  my  pocket."  Roger  Bontemps 
himself  was  not  more  content  than  our  easy  philosopher. 

So  Philip  and  Charlotte  ratified  and  sealed.a  treaty  of  Tours, 
which  they  determined  should  never  be  broken  by  either  party. 
Marry  without  papa's  consent  ?  Oh,  never !  Marry  anybody 
but  Philip  ?  Oh,  never — never  !  Not  if  she  lived  to  be  a  hun- 
dred, when  Philip  would  in  consequence  be  in  his  hundred  and 
ninth  or  tenth  year,  would  this  young  Joan  have  any  but  her 
present,  Darby.  Aunt  Mac,  though  she  may  not  have  been  the 
most  accomplished  or  highly-bred  of  ladies,  was  a  warm-hearted 
and  affectionate  aunt  Mac.  She  caught  in  a  mild  form  the  fever 
from  these  young  people.  She  had  not  much  to  leave,  and 
Mac's  relations  would  want  all  he  could  spare  when  he  was  gone. 
But  Charlotte  should  have  her  garnets,  and  her  teapot,  and  her 
India  shawl— that  she  should.* 

And  with  many  blessings  this  enthusiastic  old  lady  took  leave 
of  her  future  nephew-in-law,  when  he  returned  to  Paris  and 
duty.-  Crack  your  whip,  and  sen  am  your  hi!  and  be  off  quick, 
postillion  and  diligence  !  I  am  glad  we  have  taken  Mr.  Firmin 
out  of  that  dangerous,  lazy,  love-making  place.  Nothing  is  to 
me  so  sweet  as  sentimental  writing.  1  could  have  written, 
hundreds  of  pages  describing  Philip  and  Charlotte,  Charlotte 
and  Philip.  But  a  stern  sense  of  duty  intervenes.  My  mod-" 
est  muse  puts  a  finger  on  her  lip,  and  says,  "  Hush  about  that 
business  1"  Ah,  my  worthy  friends,  you  little  know  what  soft- 
hearted people  those  cynics  are  !  If  you  could  have  come  on 
Diogenes  by  surprise,  I  dare  say  you  might  have  found  him  read- 
ing sentimental  novels  and  whimpering  in  his  tub.  Philip  shall 
leave  his  sweetheart  and  go  back  to  his  business,  and  we  will 
not  have  one  word  about  tears,  promises,  raptures,  parting. 
Never  mind  about  these  sentimentalities,  but  please,  rather, 
to  depict  to  yourself  our  young  fellow  so  poor  that,  when  the 
coach  stops  for  'dinner  at  Orleans,  he  can  only  afford  to  pur- 
chase a  penny  loaf  and  a  sausage  for  his  own  hungry  cheek. 
When  he  reached  the*  Hotel  Poussin,  with  his  meagre  carpet- 
bag, they  served  him  a  supper  which  he  ate  to  the  admiration  of  all 
beholders  in  the  little  coffee-room.  He  was  in  great  spirits  and 
gayety.     He  did  not  care  to  make  any  secret  of  his  poverty, 

*  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  in  later  cla vs.  after  Mrs.  Major  MacWbirter's  decease, 
it  was  found  that  she  had  promised  these  treasures  in  writing  to  several  mem- 
ber,; of  her  husband",-  family,  and  that  mm  li  heart  burning  arose  in  consequence. 
But  our  Qtory  has  nothing  to  do  with  these  painful  disputt-c.. 


336  "  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  how  he  had  been  unable  to  afford  to  pay  for  dinner.  Most 
of  the  guests -at  Hotel  Poussin  knew  what  it  was  to  be  poor. 
Often  and  often  they  had  dined  on  credit  when  they  put  back 
their  napkins  into  their  respective  pigeon-holes.  But  my  land- 
lord knew  his  guests.  They  were  poor  men — honest  men. 
They  paid  him  in  the  end,  and  each  could  help  his  neighbor  in  a 
strait. 

After  Mr.  Firmin's  return  to  Paris  he  did  not  care  for  a  while 
to  go  to  the  Elysian  Fields.  They  were  not  Elysian  for  him,  ex- 
cept in  Miss  Charlotte's  company.  He  resumed  bis  newspaper 
correspondt  nee,  which,  occupied  but  a  day  in  each  week,  and  he 
had  the  other  six — nay,  he  scribbled  on  the  seventh  day  like- 
wise, and  covered  immense  sheets  of  letter-paper  with  remarks 
upon  all  manner  of  subjects,  addressed  to  a  certain  Mademoiselle, 
Mademoiselle  Baynes,  chez  M.  le  Major  Mac,  etc.  On  these 
sheets  of  paper  Mr.  Firmin  could  talk  so  long,  so  loudly,  so 
fervently,  so  eloquently  to  Miss  Baynes,  that  she  was  never  tired 
of  hearing,  or  he  of  holding  forth.  He  began  imparting  his 
dreams  and  his*  earliest  sensations  to  his  beloved  before  breakfast. 
•At  noonday  he  gave  her  his  opinion  of  the  contents  of  the 
morning  papers.  His  packet  was  ordinarily  full  and  brimming 
over  by  post-time,  so  that  his  expressions  ofJove  and  fidelity 
leaked  from  under  the  cover,  or  were  squeezed  into  the  queerest 
corners,  where,  no  doubt,  it  was  a  delightful  task  for  Miss  Baynes 
to  trace  out  and  detect  those  little  Cupids  which  a  faithful  lover 
dispatched  to  her.  It  would  be,  "I  have  found  this  little  corner 
unoccupied.  Do  you  know  what  I  have  to  say  in  it  ?  Oh, 
Charlotte,  I,"  etc.,  etc..  My  sweet  young  lady,  you  can  guess, 
or  will  one  day  guess,  the  rest;  and  will  receive  such  dear, 
delightful,  nonsensical  double  letters,  and  will  answer  them  with 
that  elegant  propriety  which,  I  have  no  doubt,  Miss  Baynes 
showed  in  her  replies.  Ah  !  if  all  who  are  writing  and  receiv- 
ing such  letters,  or  who  have  written  and  received  such,  or  who 
remember  writing  and  receiving  such,  would  order  a  copy  of 
this  month's  Cornhill  from  the  publishers,  what  reams,  and  piles, 
and  pyramids  of  paper  our  ink  would  have  to  blacken  !  JSot 
Hoe's  engines,  gigantic  as  they  are,  would  be  able  to  turn  out 
magazines  enough  for  the  supply  of  those  gentle  readers ! 
Since  Charlotte  and  Philip  h  id  been  engaged"  to  each  other,  be 
had  scarcely,  except  in  those  dreadful  ghastly  days  of  quarrel, 
enjoyed  the  luxury  of  absence  from  his  soul's  blessing — the 
exquisite  delight  of  writing  to  her.  He  ^ould  do  few  thing!  in 
moderation,  this  man — and  of  this  delightful  privilege  of  writing 
to  Charlotte  he  now  enjoyed  his  heart's  fill. 

After  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks  of  this  rapture,  when  winter 
was  come  on  Paris,  and  icicles  hung  on  the  bough,  how  did  it 
happen  that  one  day,  two  days,  three  days  passed,  and  the  post- 
man brought  no  little  letter  in  the  well-known  little  handwriting 


0^   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  337 

for  Monsieur,  Monsieur  Philip  Firrain,  a  Paris?  Three  days, 
■ibur  days,  and  no  letter.  Oh,  torture,  could  she  be  ill  ?  Could 
her  aunt  and  uncle  have  turned  against  her,  ancfc  forbidden  her 
to  write,  as  her  father  and  mother  had  done  before  ?  Oh,  grief, 
and  sorrow,  and  rage  !  As  for  jealousy,  our  leonine  friend  never 
knew  such  a  passion.  It  never  entered  into  his  lordly  heart  to- 
doubt  of  his  little  maiden's  love.  But  still  four,  five  days  have 
passed,  and  not  one  word  has  come  from  Tours.  The  little  Hdtel 
Poussin  was  in  a  commotion.  I  have  said  that  when  our  friend 
felt  any  passion  very  strongly  he  was  sure  to  «spcak  of  it.  Did 
Don  Quixote  lose  any  opportunity  of  declaring  to  the  world- 
that  Dulcinea  del  Tobosa  was  peerless  among  women  ?  Did 
not  Ahtar  bawl  out  in  battle,  "  I  am  the  lover  of  Ibla  2"  Our 
knight  had  taken  all  the  people  of  the  hotel  into  his  confidence 
somehow.  They  all  knew  of  his  condition — all,  the  painter,  the 
poet,  the  half-pay  Polish  officer,  the  landlord,  the  hostess,  down 
to  the  little  knife-boy  who  used  to  come  iu  with,  "  The  factor 
comes  off  to  pass — no  letter  this  morning." 

No  doubt  Philip's  political  letters  became,  under  this  outward 
pressure,  very  desponding  and  gloomy.  One  day,  as  he  sat 
gnawing  his  mustaches  at  his  desk,  the  little  Anatole  enters  his 
apartment  and  cries,  "  Tenez,  M.  Philippe.'  That  lady  again  !" 
And  the  faithfulfFthe  watchful,  the  active  Madame  Smolensk 
once  more  made  her  appearance  in  his  chamber. 

Philip  blushed  and  hung  his  head  for  shame.  Ungrateful 
brute,  that  I  am,  he  thought.;  I  have  been  back  more,  tl^j.n  a 
week,  and  inner  thought  a  bit  about  that  good,  kind  soul  who 
came  to  my  succor.      I  am  an  awful  egotist.      Love  is  always  so. 

As  he  rose  up  to  greet  his  friend,  she  looked  so  grave,  and 
pale,  and  sad,  that  lie  could  not  but  note  her  demeanor.  "  Bon 
Dieu  !  had  anything  happened  V" 

"  Ce  paucre  f/cneral  is  ill,  very  ill,  Philip,"  Smolensk  said,*  in 
her  grave  voice. 

lie  was  so  gravely  ill,  madame  said,  that  his  daughter  had 
been  sent  for. 

"  Had  she  come  ?"  asked  Philip,  with  a  start. 

"  You  think  but  of  Jier — you  care  not  for  the  poor  old  man. 
You  are  all  the  same,  you  men.  All  egotist's — all.  Go  !  I 
know  you  !  I  never  knew  one  that  was  not,"  said  madame. 
Philip  has  his  little  faults  :  perhaps  egotism  is  one  of  his  defects. 
Perhaps  it  is  yours,  or  even  mine.  "  You  have  been  here  a 
week  since  Thursday  last,  and  you  have  never  written  or  sent 
to  a  woman  who  loves  you  well.  Go  !  It  was  not  well,  Mon- 
sieur Philippe." 

As  soon  as  he  saw  her  Philip  felt  that  he  had  been  neglectful 
and  ungrateful.     We  have  owned  so  much  already.     But  how 
should  madame  know  that  he  had  returned  on  Thursday  week  ? 
29 


338  THE   ADVENTURES   OP    THILir 

Wben  they  looked  up  after  her  reproof,  his  eager  eyes  seamed  to. 
ask  this  question. 

"Could  she  not  writ6  to  me  and  tell  me  that  you  were  come 
back  ?  Perhaps  she  knew  that  you  would  not  do  so"  yourself. 
A  woman's  heart  teaches  her  these  experiences  early,"  continued 
the  lady,  sadly  ;  then  she  added  :  "I  tell  you,  you  are  good-for- 
nothings,  all  of  you!  And  I  repent  me,  see  you,  of  having  had 
the  belise  to  pity  you  !" 

"I  shall  have  my  quarter's  pay  on  Saturday.  I  was  coming 
to  you  then,"  said  Philip. 

"Was  it  that  I  was  speaking  of?  What !  you  are  all  cowards, 
men  all !  Oh,  that  I  have  been  beast,  beast,  to  think  at  last 
I  had  found  a  man  of  heart !" 

How  much  and  how  often  this  poor  Ariadne  had  trusted  and 
been  forsaken  1  have  no  means  of  knowing,  or  desire  of  inquir- 
ing. Perhaps  it  is  as  well  for  the  polite  reader,  who  is  taken 
into  my  entire  confidence,  that  we  should  not  know  Madame  de 
Smolensk's  history  from  the  first  page  to  the  last.  Granted  that 
Ariadne  was  deceived  by  Theseus ;  but  then  she  consoled  her- 
self, as  we  may  all  read  in  Smith's  Dictionary;  and  then  she 
must  ioave  deceived  her  father  in  order  to  run  away  with 
Theseus.  I  suspect — I  suspect,  I  say — that  these  women  who 
are  so  very  much  betrayed  are —  Butwe-lfre  speculating  on 
this  French  lady's  antecedents,  when  Charlotte,  her  lover,  and 
her  family,  arc  the  persons  with  whom  we  have  mainly  to  do. 

9E&ese  two,  I  suppose,  forgot  self,  about  which  each  for  a 
moment  had  been  busy,  and  madame  resumed :  "  Yes,  you  have 
reason  ;  Miss  is  here.  It  was  time.  Hold  !  Here  is  a  note 
from  her.  And  Philip's  kind  messenger  once  more  put  a  paper 
into  his  hands : 

w  My  dearest  father  is  very,  very  ill  Oh,  Philip  !  I  am  so  unhappy  ; 
and  he  is  so  good  and  gentle  and  kind,  and  loves  me  so  !" 

"  It  i§  true,"  madame  resumed.  "  Before  Charlotte  came  he 
thought  only  of  her.  When  his  wife  comes  up  to  him  he  pushes 
her  away.  I  have  not  loved  her  mucn,  that  lady,  that  is  true. 
But  to  see  her  now,  it  is  navrant.  He.  will  take  no  medicine 
from  her.  He  pushes  her  away.  Before  Charlotte  came  he 
sent  for  me,  and  spoke  as  well  as  his  poor  throat  would  let  him, 
this  poor  general  !  His  daughter's  arrival  seemed  to  comfort 
him.  But  he  says,  'Not  my  wife  !  not  my  wife  !'  And  the  poor 
thing  has  to  go  away  and  cry  in  the  chamber  at  the  side.  He 
says — in  his  French,  you  know — he  has  never  been  well  since 
Charlotte  went  away.  He  has  often  been  out.  He  has  dined 
but  rarely  at  our  table,  and  there  has  always  been  a  silence  be- 
tween him  and  Madame  la  Generale.  Last  week  he  bad  a  great 
inflammation  of  the  chest,  *T&en  he  took  to  bed,  and  Monsieur 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE  WORLD.  339 

the  Docteur  came — the  little  doctor  whom  you  know.  Then 
a  quinsy  has  declared  itself,  and  he  now  is  scarce  able  to  speak. 
His  condition  is  most  grave.  He  lies  suffering,  dying,  perhaps — 
yes,"  dying,  do  you  hear  ?  And  you  are  thinking  of  your  little 
school-girl  !     Men  are  all  the  same.     Monsters !     Go  I" 

Philip,  who,  I  have  said,  is  very  fond  of  talking  about  Philip, 
surveys  his  own  faults  with  great  magnanimity  and  good-humor, 
and  acknowledges  them  without  the  least  intention  to  correct 
them.  "How  selfish  we  are  !''  I  can  hear  him  say,  looking  at 
himself  in  the  glass;  "  By  George  !  sir,  when  I  heard  simultane- 
ously the  news  of  that  poor  old  man's. illness  and  of  Charlotte's 
return,  I  felt  that  I  wanted  to  see  her  that  instant.  I  must  go  to 
her,  and  spe  ik  to  her.  The  old  man  and  his  suffering  did  not 
seem  to  affect  me.  It  is  humiliating  to  have  to  own  that  we  are 
selfish  beasts.  But  we  are,  sir — we  are  brutes,  by  George  !  and 
nothing  else!"  And  he  gives  a  finishing  twist  to  the  ende  of 
his  flaming  mustaches  as  he  surveys  them  in  the  glass.    - 

Poor  little  Charlotte  w?»s  in  such  affliction  that,  of  course,  she 
must  have  Philip  to  console  her  at  once.  No  time  was  to  be 
lost.  Quick  !  a  cab  this  moment ;  and,  coachman,  you  shall 
have  an  extra  for  drink  if  you  go  quick  to  the  Avenue  de  Marli  ! 
Madame  puts  herself  into  the  carriage,  and  as  they  go  along 
tells  Philip  more-  at  length  of  the  gloomy  occurrences  of  the 
last  few  days.  Four  days  fcince  the  poor  general  was  so  bad 
with  his  quinsy  that  he  thought  he  should  not  recover,  and 
Charlotte  was  sent  for.  He  was  a  little  better  on  the  day  of  her 
arrival ;  but  yesterday  the  inflammation  had  increased ;  he 
could  not  swallow  ;  he  could  not  speak  audibly ;  he  was  in  very 
great  suffering  and  danger.  He  turned  away  from  his  wife. 
The  unhappy  generaless  had  been  to  Madame  Bunch  in  her 
tears  and  grief,  complaining  that  after  twenty  years' fidelity  and 
attachment  her  husband  had  withdrawn  his  regard  from  her. 
Baynes  attributed  even  his  illness  to  his  wife ;  and  at  other 
times  said  it  was  a  just  punishment  for  his  wicked  conduct  in 
breaking  his  word  to  Philip  and  Charlotte!  He  must  see  his 
dear  child  again,  and  beg  her  forgiveness  for  having  made  her 
suffer  so.  He  had  acted  wickedly  and  ungratefully,  and  his 
wife  had  forced  him  to  do  what  he  did.  He  prayed  that  heaven 
might  pardon  him.  And  he  had  behaved  with  wicked  injustice 
toward  Philip,  who  had  acted  most  generously  toward  his  family. 
And  he  had  been  a  scoundrel — he  knew  he  had — and  Bunch, 
and  MacWhirter,  and  the  doctor  all  said  so — and  it  was  that 
woman's  doing.  And  he  pointed  to  the  scared  wife  as  he  pain- 
fully hissed  out  these  words  of  anger  and  contrition  :  "  When  I 
saw  that  child  ill,  and  almost  made  mad,  because  I  broke  my 
word,  I  felt  I  was  a  scoundrel,  Martin  ;  and  I  was ;  and  that 
woman  made  me  so ;  and  I  deserve  to  be  shot  ;  and  I  shan't 
recover  ;  I  tell  you  I  shan't."     Dr.  Martin,  who  attended  the 


340  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

general,  thus  described  his  patient's  last  talk  and  behavior  to 
Philip. 

It  was  the  doctor  who  sent  madame  in  quest  of  the  young  man... 
He  found  poor  Mrs.  Baynes,  with  hot,  tearless  eyes  and  livid 
face,  a  wretched  sentinel  outside  the  sick-chamber.  "  You  will 
find  General  Baynes  very  ill,  sir,"  she  said  to  Philip,  with  a 
ghastly  calmness,  and  a  gaze  he  could  scarcely  face.  "  My 
daughter  is  in  the  room  with  him.  It  appears  I  have  offended 
him,  and  he  refuses  to  see  me."  And  she  squeezed  a  dry  hand- 
kerchief which  she  held,  and  put  on  her  spectacles  again,  and 
tried  again  to  read  the  Bible'  in  her  lap. 

Philip  hardly  knew  the  meaning  of  Mrs.  Baynes'  words  aa  yet. 
He  was  agitated  by  the  thought  of  the  general's  illness,  perhaps 
by  the  notion  that  the  beloved  was  so  near.  '  Her  hand  was  in 
his  a  moment  afterward ;  and,  even  in  that  sad  chamber,  each 
could  give  the  other  a  soft  pressure,  a  fond,  silent  signal  of  mu- 
tual love  and  faith. 

.The  poor  man  laid  the  hands  of  the  young  people  together, 
and  his  own  upon  them.  The  suffering  to  wmVh  he  had  put  his 
daughter  seemed  to  be  the  crime  which  specially  affected  him. 
He  thanked  heaven  he  was  able  to  see  he  was  wrong.  He  whis- 
pered to  his  little  maid  a  prayer  for  pardon  in  one  or  two  words, 
which  caused  poor  Charlotte  to  sink  on  her  knees  and  cover  his 
fevered  hand  with  tears  and  kisses.  Out  of  all  her  heart  she 
forgave  him.  She  had  felt  that  the  parent  she  loved  and  was 
accustomed  to  honor  had  been  mercenary  and  cruel.  It  had 
wounded  her  pure  heart  to  be  obliged  to  think  that  her  father 
could  be  other  than  generous,  and  just,  and  good.  That  he 
should  humble  himself  before  her,  smote  her  with  the  keenest 
pang  of  tender  commiseration.  I  do  not  care  to  pursue  this  last 
scene.  Let  us  close  the  door  as  the  children  kneel  by  the  suffer- 
er's bedside,  and  to  the  old  man's  petition  for  forgiveness,  and  to 
the  young  girl's  sobbing  vows  of  love  and  fondness,  say  a  rever- 
ent AmeM. 

By  the  following  letter,  which  he  wrote  a  few  days  before  the 
fatal  termination  of  his  illness,  the  worthy  general,  it  would  ap- 
pear, had  already  despaired  of  his  recovery : 

"  My  dear  Mac  :  I  speak  and  breathe  with  such  difficulty  as  I  write 
this  from  niybed,  that  I  doubt  whether  I  shall  ever  leave  it.  I  do  not 
wish  to  vex  poor  Eliza,  and,  in  my  state,  can  not  enter  into  dispittae 
which  I  know  would  en^ue  regarding  settlement  of  property.  When  I 
left  England  there  was  a  claim  hanging  over  me  (young  Fivmin's),  at 
which  I  was  needlessly  frightened,  as  having  to  satisfy  it  would  swallow 
up  much  more  tlian  everything  I  posnessed  in  the  world,  Hence.made 
arrangements  for  leaving  everything  in  Eliza's  name  aud  the  children 
after.  Will  with  Smith  and  Thompson,.  Raymond  buildings,  Gray's 
Inn.  Think  "Char  won't  he  happy  for  a  long  time  with,  her  mother.  To 
break  from  F.,  who  has  been  most  generous  to  ut,  will  break  her  heart. 
Will  you  and  Emily  keep  her  for  a  little  ?     I  gave  F.  my  promise,  as 


THE     */f/        J^fAAfjf     DOOR 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  341 

you  told  me  I  have  acted  ill  by  him,  which  I  own  and  deeply  lament. 
If  Char  marries,  she  otight  to  have  her  share.  May  G-od  bless  her,  her 
father  prays,  in  ease  he  should  not  see  her  again.  Aud  with  best  love 
to  Emily,  am  yours,  dear  Mac,  sincerely,  Charles  Baynes." 

On  the  receipt  of  this  letter  Charlotte  disobeyed  her  father's 
wish,  and  set  forth  from  Tours  instantly,  under  her  worthy  un- 
cle's guardianship.  The  old  soldier  was  in  his  comrade's  room 
when  the  general  put  the  hands  of  Charlotte  and  her  lover 
together.  He  confessed  his  fault,  though  it  is  hard  for  those  who 
expect  love  and  reverence  to  have  to  own  to  wrong  and  to  ask 
pardon.  Old  knees  are  stiff  to  bend  :  brother  reader,  young  or 
old,  when  our  last  hour  comes,  may  ours  have  grace  to  do  as 
much. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

RETURNS  TO  OLD  FRIENDS. 

The  tjjree  old  comrades  and  Philip  formed  the  little  mourning 
procession  which  followed  the  general  to  his  place  of  rest  at 
Montmartre."  When  the  service  has  been  read,  and  the  last 
volley  has  been  fired  over  the  buried  soldier,  the  troops  march  to 
quarters  with  a  quick  step,  and  to  a  lively  tune.  Our  veteran 
has  been  laid  in  the  grave  with  brief  ceremonies.  We  do  not 
even,  prolong  his  obsequies  with  a  sermon.  His  place  knows  him 
no  longer.  There  are  a  few  who  remember  him :  a  very,  very 
few  who  grieve  for  him — so  few  that  to  think  of  them  is  a  humili- 
ation almost.  The  sun  sets  on  the  earth,  and  our  dear  brother 
has  departed  off  its  face.  Stars  twinkle;  dews  fall ;  children  go 
to  sleep  in  awe,  and  maybe  tears ;  the  sun  rises  on  a  new  day, 
which  he  has  never"  seen,  aud  children  wake  hungry.  They  are 
interested  about  their  new  black  clothes,  perhaps.  They  are 
presently  at  their  work,  plays,  quarrels.  They  are  looking  for- 
ward to  the~  day  when  the  holidays  will  be  Over,  and  the  eyes 
which  shone  here  yesterday  so  kindly  afe  gone,  gone,  gone.  A 
drive  to  the  cemetery,  followed  by  a  coach  with  our  acquaint- 
ances dressed  in  decorous  black,  who  separate  and  go  to  their 
homes  or  clubs,  and  wear  your  crape  for  a  few  days  after — can 
most  of  us  expect  much  more  V  The  thought  is  not  ennobling  or 
exhilarating,  worthy  sir.  And,  pray,  why  should  we  be  proud 
of  ourselves  ?  Is  it  because  we  have  been  so  good,  or  are  so 
wise  and  great,  that  we  expect  to  be  beloved,  lamented,  remem- 
bered ?  Why,  great  Xerxes  or  blustering  Bobadil  must  know 
in  that  last  hour  and  resting-place  how  abject,  how  small,  how 
low,  how  lonely  they  are,  and  what  a  little  dust  will  cover  them ! 
Quick,  drums  and  fifes,  a  lively  tune !     Whip  the  black  team, 


342  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

coachman,  and  trot  back  to  town  again — to  the  world,  and  to 
business  and  duty ! 

I  am  for  saying  no  single  unkindness  of  General  Baynes  which 
is  not  forced  upon  me  by  my  story-teller's  office.  We  know  from 
Marlborough's  story  that  the  bravest  man  and  greatest  military 
genius  is  not  always  brave  or  successful  in  his  battles  with  his 
wife  ;  that  some  of  the  greatest  warriors  have  committed  errors 
in  accounts  and  the  distribution  of  meum  and  teurn.  We  can't 
diguise  from  ourselves  the  fact  that  Baynes  permitted  himself  to 
be  mi- led,  and  had  weaknesses  not  quite  consistent  with  the 
highest  virtue. 

When  he  became  aware  that  his  carelessness  in  the  matter  of 
Mrs.  Firmin's  trust-money  had  placed  him  in  her  son's  power,  we 
have  seen  how  the  old  general,  in  order  to  avoid  being  called  to 
account,  fled  across  the  water  with  his  family  and  all  his  little 
fortune,  and  how  terrified  he  was  on  landing  on  a  foreign  shore 
to  find  himself  face  to  face  with  this  dreadful  creditor.  Philip's 
renunciation  of  all  claims  against  Baynes  soothed  and  pleased  the 
old  man  wonderfully.  But  Philip  might  change  his  mind,  an 
adviser  at  Baynes'  side  repeatedly  urged.  To  live  abroad  was 
cheaper  and  safer  than  to  live  at  home.  Accordingly  Baynes, 
his  wife,  family,  and  money,  all  went  into  exile,  and  remained 
there. 

What  savings  the  old  man  had  I  don't  accurately  know.  He 
and  his  wife  were  very  dark  upon  this  subject  with  Philip  ;  and 
when  the  general  died  his  widow  declared  herself  to  be  almost  a 
pauper !  It  was  impossible  that  Baynes  should  have  left  much 
money  ;  but  that  Charlotte's  share  should  have  amounted  to — 
that  sum  which  may  or  may  not  presently  be  stated — was  a  little 
too  absurd  !  You  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Firrnin  are  travelling  abroad 
just  now.  When  I  wrote  to  Firrnin,  on  the  28th  of  February, 
1863,  to  ask  if  I  might  mention  the  amount  of  his  wife's  fortune, 
he  gave  me  no  answer  :  nor  do  I  like  to  enter  upon  these  matters 
of  calculation  without  his  explicit  permission.  He  is  of  a  hot 
temper  ;  he  might,  on  his  return,  grow  angry  with  the  friend  of 
his  youth,  and  say,  "  Sir,  how  dare  you  to  talk  about  my  private 
affairs  ?  and  what  has  the  public  to  do  with  Mrs.  Firmin's  private 
fortune  ?" 

When,  the  last  rites  over,  good-natured  uncle  Mac  proposed 
to  take  Charlotte  back  to  Tours,  her  mother  made  no  objection. 
The  widow  had  tried  to  do  the  girPsuch  an  injury  that,  perhaps, 
the  latter  felt  forgiveness  was  impossible.  Little  Char  loved 
Philip  with  all  her  heart  and  strength ;  had  been  authorized  and 
encouraged  to  do  so,  as  we  have  seen.  To  give  him  up  now, 
because  a  richer  suitor  presented  himself,  was  an  act  of  treason 
from  which  her  faithful  heart  revolted,  and  she  never  could  par- 
don the  instigator.  You  see,  in  this  simple  story,  I  scarcely  care 
even  to  have  reticence  or  secrets.      I  don't  want  voti  to  under- 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  843 

stand  for  a  moment  that  "Walsingham  Hely  was  still  crying  his 
eyes  out  about  Charlotte.  Goodness  bless  you  1  It  was  two  or 
three  weeks  ago — four  or  five  weeks  ago.  that  he  was  in  love  with 
her !  He  had  not  seen  the  Duchesse  D'lvry  then,  about  whom 
you  may  remember  he  had  the  quarrel  with  Podichou,  at  the  club 
in  the  Rue  de  Grammorit.  (He  and  the  duchesse  wrote  poems 
to  each  other,  each  in  the  other's  native  language.)  The  Char- 
lotte had  long  passed  out  of  the  young  fellow's  mind.  That  but- 
terfly had  fluttered  off  from  our  English  rose-bud,  and  had  settled 
on  the  other  elderly  flower !  I  don't  know  that  Mrs.  Baynes  was 
aware  of  young  Hely's  fickleness  at  this  present  time  of  which  we 
arc  writing:  but  his  visits  had  ceased,  and  she  was  angry  and 
disappointed  ;  and  not  the  less  angry  because  her  labor  had  been 
in  vain.  On  her  part,  Charlotte  could  also  be  resolutely  unfor- 
giving. Take  her  Philip  from  her  ?  Never,  never !  Her  mother 
force  her  to  give  up  the  man  whom  she  had  been  encouraged  to 
love  ?  Mamma  should  have  defended  Philip,  not  betrayed  him  ! 
If  I  command  my  son  to  steal  a  spoon,  shall  he  obey  me  ?  And  if 
he  do  obey  and  steal,  and  be  transported,  will  he  love  me  after- 
ward V  1  think  I  can  hardly  ask  for  so  much  filial  affection. 

So  there  was  strife  between  mother  and- daughter ;  and  anger 
not  the  less  bitter,  on  Mrs.  Bayncs'  part,  because  her  husband, 
whose  cupidity  or  fear  had,  at  first,  induced  him  to  take  her  side, 
had  deserted  her  and  gone  over  to  her  daughter.  In  the  anger 
of  that  controversy  Baynes  died,  leaving  the  victory  and  right 
with  Charlotte.  He  shrank  from  his  wife  :  would  not  speak  to 
her  in  his  last  moments.  The  widow  had  these  injuries  against 
her  daughter  and  Philip  :  and  thus  neither  side  forgave  the  other. 
She  was  not  averse  to  the  child's  going  away  to  her  uncle:  put 
a  lean  hungry  face  against  Charlotte's  lip,  and  received  a  kiss 
which  I  fear  had  but  little  love  in  it.  I  don't  envy  those  children 
who  remain  under  the  widow's  lonely  command  ;  or  poor  Madame 
Smolensk,  who  has  to  endure  Che  arrogance,  the  grief,  the  avarice 
of  that  grim  woman.  Nor  did  madame  suffer  under  this  tyranny 
long.  Galignanis  Messenger  very  soon  announced  that  she  had 
lodgings  to  let,  and  1  remember  being  edified  by  reading  one  day 
in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  that  elegant  apartments,  select  society, 
and  an  excellent  table,  were  to  be  found  in  one  of  the  most  airy 
and  fashionable  quarters  of  Paris.  Inquire  of  Madame  la  Ba- 
ronne  de  S sk,  Avenue  de  Marli,  Champs  Elysees. 

We  guessed  without  difficulty  how  this  advertisement  found  its 
way  to  the,  Pall  Mall  Gazette ;  and  very  soon  after  its  appear- 
ance Madame  de  Smolensk's  friend,  Mr.  Philip,  made  his  appear- 
ance at  our  tea-table  in  London.  Pie  was  always  welcome  among 
us  elders  and  children.  *  He  wore  a  crape  on  his  hat.  As  soon 
as  the  young  ones  were  gone,  you  may  be  sure  he  poured  his  story 
out,  and  enlarged  upon  the  death,  the  burial,  the  quarrels,  the 
loves,  the  partings  we  have  narrated.      How  could  he  be  put  in 


344  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

a  way  to  earn  three  or  four  hundred  a  year  ?  That  was  the  pres- 
ent question.  Ere  he  came  to  see  us  he  had  already  been  totting 
up  ways  and  means.  He  had  been  with  our  friend  Mrs.  Bran-: 
don:  was  staying  with  her.  The  Little  Sister  thought  .three 
hundred  would  be  sufficient.  They  could  have  her  second  floor — 
not  for  nothing ;  no,  no,  but  at  a  moderate  price,  which  would 
pay  her.  They  could  have  attics,  if  more  rooms  were  needed. 
They  could  have  her  kitchen  fire,  and  one  maid,  for  the  present, 
would  do  all  their  work.  Poor  little  thing !  She  was  very  young. 
She  would  be  past  eighteen  by  the  time  she  could  marry  ;  the 
Little  Sister  was  for  early  marriages,  against  long  courtships. 
"  Heaven  help  those  as  helps  themselves,"  she  said.  And  Mr. 
Philip  thought  this  excellent  advice,  and  Mr.  Philip's  -friend, 
when  asked  for  his  opinion — "  Candidly  now,  what's  your  opin- 
ion ?" — said,  "  Is  she  in  the  next  room  V  Of  course  you  mean  you 
are  married  already." 

Philip  roared  one  of  his  great  laughs.  No,  he  was  not  married 
already.  Had  he  not  said  that  Miss  Baynes  was  gone  away  to 
Tours  with  her  aunt  and  uncle  ?  but  that  he  wanted  to  be  mar- 
ried; but  that  he  could  never  settle  downto  Work  till  he  mar- 
ried ;  but  that  he  could  have  no  rest,  peace,  health,  till  he  mar- 
ried that  angel,  he  was  ready  to  confess.  Ready?  All  the  street 
might  hear  him  calling  out  the  name  and  expatiating  on  the  an- 
gelic charms  and  goodness  of  his  Charlotte.  He  spoke  so  loud 
and  long  on  this  subject  that  my  wile  grew  a  little  tired  ;  and  my 
wife  always  likes  to  hear  other  women  praised,  that  (she  says)  I 
know  she  does.  But  when  a  man  goes  on  roaring  for  an  hour 
about  Dulcinea  ?  You  know  such  talk  becomes  fulsome  at  last; 
and,  in  fine,  when  he  was  gone,  my  wife  said,  "  Well,  he  is  very 
much  in  love;  so  were  you — I  mean  long  before  my  time,  sir  ; 
but  docs  love  pay  the  housekeeping  bills,  pray  ?" 

"No,  my  dear.  And  love  is  always  controlled  by  other  peo- 
ple's advice  : — always,"  says  Philip's  friend,  who,  I  hope,  you  will 
perceive  was  speaking  ironically. 

Philip's  friends  had  listened  not  impatiently  to  Philip's  talk 
about  Philip.  Almost  ajl  women  will  give  a  sympathizing  hear- 
ing to  men  who  are  in  love.  Be  they  ever  so  Old,  they  grow 
young  again  with  that  conversation,  and  renew  their  own  early 
times.  Men  are  not  quite  so  gunerous  :  Tityrus  tires  of  hearing 
Corydon  discourse  endlessly  on  the  charms  of  his  shepherdess. 
And  yet  egotism  is  good  talk.  Even  dull  biographies  are  pleas- 
ant to  read  ;  and  if  to  read,  why  not  to  hear  ?  Had  Master  Philip 
not  been  such  an  egotist  he  would  not  have  been  so  pleasant  a 
companion.  Can't  you  like  a  man  at  whom  you  laugh  a  little  ■? 
I  had  rather  such  an  open-mouthed  conversationist  than  your 
volto  sciolto  that  never  unlocks  without  a  careful  application  of 
the  key.  As  for  the  entrance  to  Mr.  Philip's  minol,  that  door  was 
always  open  when  he  was  awake,  or  not  hungry,  or  in  a  friend's 


ON  HIS  WAT   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  345 

company.  Besides  his  love,  and  his  prospects  in  life,  his  poverty, 
etc.,  Philip  had  other  favorite  topics  of  conversation.  His  friend 
the  Little  Sister  was  a  great  theme  with  him;  his  father  was 
another  favorite  subject  of  his  talk.  By  the  way,  his  father  had 
written  to  the  Little  Sister.  The  doctor  said  he  was  sure  to  pros- 
per in  his  newly-adopted  country.  He  and  another  physician 
had  invented  a  new  medicine,  which  was  to  effect  wonders,  and 
in  a  few  years  would  assuredly  make  the  fortune  of  both  of  them. 
He  was  never  without  one  scheme  or  another  for  making  that 
fortune  which  never  came.  Whenever  he  drew  upon  poor  Philip 
for  little  sums  his  letters  were  sure  to  be  especially  magniloquent 
and  hopeful.  "  Whenever  the  doctor  says  he  has  invented  the 
philosopher's  stone,"  said  poor  Philip,'  "  I  am  sure  there  will  be  a 
postscript  to  say  that  a  little  bill  will  be  presented  for  so  much, 
at  so  many  days'  date." 

Had  he  drawn  on  Philip  lately  ?  Philip  told  us  when,  and 
how  often.  We  gave  him  all  the  benefit  of  our  virtuous  indig- 
nation. As  for  my  wife's  eyes,  they  gleamed  with  anger.  What 
a  man  !  what  a  father!  Oh,  he  was  incorrigible  !  "  Yes,  I  am 
afraid  he  is,"  says'  poor  Phil,  comically,  with  his  hands  roaming 
at  ease  in  his  pockets.  They  contained  little  else  than  those  big 
hands.  "My  father  is  of  a  hopeful  turn.  His  views  regarding 
property  are  peculiar.  It  is  a  comfort  to  have,  such  a  distin- 
guished parent,  is  n't  it  ?  I  am  always  surprised  to  hear  that  he 
is  not  married  again.  I  sigh  for  a  mother-in-law,"  Philip  con- 
tinued. 

"Oh  don't,  Philip!''  cried  Mrs.  Laura,  in  a  pet.  "Be  gener- 
ous, be  forgiving,  be  noble,  be  Christian  !  Don't  be  cynical,  and 
imitating — you  know  whom  !" 

Whom  could  she  possibly  mean,  I  wonder?  After  flashes, 
there  came  showers  in  this  lady's  eyes.  From  long  habit  I  can 
understand  her  thoughts,  although  she  does  not  utter  them.  She 
was  thinking  of  these  poor,  noble,  simple,  friendless  young  peo- 
ple, and  asking  heaven's  protection  for  them.  I  am  not  in  the 
habit  of  overpraising  my  friends,  goodness  knows  !  The  foibles 
of  this  one  1  have  described  honestly  enough.  But  if  I  write 
down  here  that  he  was  courageous,  cheerful  in  adversity,  gener- 
ous, simple,  truth-loving,  above  a  scheme — after  having  said  that 
he  was  a  noble  young  fellow — dixi;  and  I  won't  cancel  the  words. 

Ardent  lover  as  he  was,  our  friend  was  glad  to  be  back  in  the 
midst  of  the  London  smoke,  and  wealth,  and  bustle.  The  fog 
agreed  with. his  lungs,  he  said.  He  breathed  more  freely  in  our 
great  city  than  in  that  "little  English  village  in  the  centre  of 
Paris  which  he  had  been  inhabiting.  In  his  hotel,  and  at  his 
cafe  (where  he  composed  his  eloquent  "  own  correspondence  "), 
he  had  occasion  to  speak  a  little  French,  but  it  never  came  very 
trippingly  from  his  stout  English  tongue.  "  You  don't  suppose 
I  would  like  to  be  taken  for  a  Frenchman,"  he  would  say  with 
SO 


346  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

much  gravity.  I  wonder  who  ever  thought  of  mistaking  friend 
Philip  for  a  Frenchman  ? 

As  for  that  faithful  Little  Sister,  her  house  and  heart  were 
•  still  at  the  young  man's  service.  We  have  not  visited  Tborn- 
haugh  street, for  some  time.  Mr.  Philip,  whom  we  have  been 
bound  to  attend,  has  been  too  much  occupied  with  his  love- 
making  to  bestow  much  thought  on  his  affectionate  little  friend. 
She  has  been  trudging  meanwhile  on  her  humble  course  of  life, 
cheerful,  modest,  laborious,  doing  her  duty,  with  a  helping  little 
hand  ready  to  relieve  many  a  fallen  wayfarer  on  her  road.  She 
had  a  room  vacant  in  her  house  when  Philip,  came — a  room, 
indeed  1  Would  she  not  have  had  a  house  vacant  if  Philip 
wanted  it  ?  But  in  the  interval  since  we  saw  her  last  the  Little 
Sister,  too,  has  had  to  assume  black  robes.  Her  father,  the  old 
captain,  has  gone  to  his  rest.  His  place  is  vacant  in  the  little 
parlor :  his  bedroom  is  ready  for  Philip,  as  long  as  Philip  will 
stay.  She  did  not  profess  to. feel  much  affliction  for  the  loss  of 
the  captain.  She  talked  of  him  constantly  as  though  he  were 
present ;  and  made  a  supper  for  Philip  and  seated  him  in  her 
pa's  chair.  How  she  bustled  about  on  the  night  when  Philip 
arrived  !  What  a  beaming  welcome  there  was  in  her  kind  eyes  ! 
Her  modest  hair  was  touched  with'silver  now  ;  but  her  cheeks 
were  like  apples ;  her  little  figure  was  neat,  and  light,  and 
active  ;  and  her  voice,  with  its  gentle  laugh  and  little  sweet  bad 
grammar,  has  always  seemed  one  of  the  sweetest  of  voices  to  me. 

Very  soon  after  Philip's  arrival  in  London  Mrs.  Brandon  paid 
a  visit  to  the  wife  of  Mr.  Firmin's  humble  servant  and  biographer, 
and  the  two  women  had  a  fine  sentimental  consultation.  All 
good  women,  you  know,  are  sentimental.  The  idea  of  young 
lovers,  of  match-making,  of  amiable  poverty,  tenderly^xcites  and 
interests  them.  My  wife,  at  this  time,  began  to  pour  bff  fine  long 
letters  to  Miss  Baynes,  to  which  the  latter  modestly  and  dutifully 
replied,  with  many  expressions  of  fervor  and  gratitude  for  the 
interest  which  her  friend  in  London  was  pleased  to  take  in  the 
little  maid.  I  saw  by  these  answers  that  Charlotte's  union  with 
Philip  was  taken  as  a  received  point  by  these  two  ladies. 
They  discussed  the  ways  and  means.  They  did  not  talk  about 
broughams,  settlements,  town  and  country-houses,  pin-moneys, 
trousseaux ;  and  my  wife,  in  computing  their  sources  of  income, 
always  pointed  out  that  Miss  Charlotte's  fortune,  though  certainly 
small,  would  give  a  very  useful  addition  to  the  young  couple's 
income.  "  Fifty  pounds  a  year  not  much  I  Let  me  tell  you,  sir, 
that  fifty  pounds  a  year  is  a  very  pretty  little  sum :  if  Philip  can 
but  make  three  hundred  a  year  himself,  Mrs.  Brandon  says  they 
ought  to  be  able  to  live  quite  nicely."  You  ask|  my  genteel 
friend,  is  it  possible  that  people  can  live  for  four  hundred  a  year? 
How  do  they  manage,  ces pauvres  gens?  They  eat,  they  drink, 
they  are  clothed,  they  are  warmed,  they  have  roofs  over  their 


ON   HI8   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  347 

heads,  and  glass  in  their  windows ;  and  some  of  them  are  as  good, 
happy,  and  well-bred  as  their  neighbors  who  are  ten  times  as 
rich.  Then,  besides  this  calculation  of  money,  there  is  the  fond 
woman's  firm  belief  that  the  day  will  bring  its  daily  bread  for 
those  who  work  for  it  and  ask  for  it  in  the  proper  quarter; 
against  which  reasoning  many  a  man  knows  it  is  in  vain  to  argue. 
As  to  my  own  little  objections  and  doubts,  my  wife  met  them  by 
reference  to  Philip's  former  love-affair  with  his  cousin,  Miss 
Twysden.  "  You  had  no  objection  in  that  case,  sir,"  this  logician 
would  say.  "  You  would  have  had  him  take  a  creature  without, 
a  heart.  You  would  cheerfully  haye  seen  him  made  miserable 
for  life,  because  you  thought  there  was  money  enough  and  a 
genteel  connection.  Money  indeed!  Very  happy  Mrs.  Wool- 
comb  is  with  her  money.  Very  creditably  to  all  sides  has  that 
marriage  turned  out!"  1  need  scarcely  remind  my  readers  of 
the  unfortunate  result  of  that  marriage.  Woolcomb's  behavior 
to  his  wife  was  the  agreeable  talk  of  London  society  and  of  the 
London  clubs  very  soon  after  the  pair  were  joined  together  in 
holy  matrimony.  Do  we  not  all  remember  how  Wooleomb  was 
accused  pf  striking  his  wife,  of  starving  his  wife,  and  how  she 
took  refuge  at  home,  and  came  to  her  father's  house  with  a  black 
eye  ?  The  two  Twysdens  were  so  ashamed  of  this  transaction 
that  father  and  son  left  off  coming  to  Bays',  where  I  never  heard 
their  absence  regretted  but  by  one  man,  who  said  that  Talbot 
owed  him  money  for  losses  at  whist  for  which  he  could  get  no 
settlement. 

Should  Mr.  Firmin  go  and  see  his  aunt  in  her  misfortune'? 
By-gones  might  be  by-gones,  some  of  Philip's  advisers  thought. 
Now,  Mrs.  Twysden  was  unhappy,  her  heart  might  relent  to 
Philip,  fl|om  she  certainly  had  loved  as  a  boy.  Philip  had  the 
magnanimity  to  call  upon  her;  and  found  her  carriage  waiting 
at  the  door.  But  a  servant,  after  keeping  the  gentleman  waiting 
in  the  dreary,  well-remembered  hall,  brought  him  word  that  his 
mistress  was  out,  smiled  in  his  face  with  an  engaging  insolence, 
and  proceeded  to  put  cloaks,  court-guides,  and  other  female  gear 
into  the  carriage  in  the  presence  of  this  poor  deserted  nephew. 
This  visit,  it  must  be  owned,  was  one  of  Mrs.  Laura's  romantic 
efforts  at  reconciling  enemies:  as  if,  my  good  creature,  the  Twys- 
dens ever  let  a  man  into  their  house  who  was  poor  or  out  of 
fashion!  They  lived  in  a  constant  dread  lest  Philip  should  call 
to  borrow  money  of  them.  As  if  they  ever  lent  money  to  a  man 
who  was  in  need  !  If  they  ask  the  respected  reader  to  their 
house,  depend  on  it  they  think  he  is  well  to  do.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  Twysdens  made  a  very  handsome  entertainment,  for 
the  new  Lord  of  Whipham  and  Kingwood  who  now  reigned  after 
his  kinsman's  death.  They  affably  went  and  passed  Christmas 
with  him  in  the  country;  and  they  cringed  and  bowed  before 
Sir  Philip  Ring  wood  M  they  had  bowod  Brad. cringed  before  the 


348  THE   ADVENTURES   OF  PHILIP 

earl  in  his  time.  The  old  earl  had  been  a  Tory  in  his  latter  days, 
when  Talbot  Twysden's  views  were  also  very  conservative.  The 
present  Lord  of  Ring  wood  was  a  Whig.  It  is  surprising  how 
liberal  the  Twysdens  grew  in  the  course  of  a  fortnight's  after- 
dinner  conversation  and  pheasant-shooting  talk  at  Ringwood. 
"  Hang  it !  you  know,"  young  Twysden  said,  in  his  office  after- 
ward, **  a  fellow  must  go  with  the  politics  of  his  family,  you  know !" 
and  he  bragged  about  the  dinners,  wines,  splendors,  cooks,  and 
preserves  of  Ringwood  as  freely  as  in  the  time  of  his  noble  grand- 
uncle.  Any  one  who  has  kept  a  house-dog  in  London,  which 
licks  your  boots  and  your  platter,  and  fawns  for  the  bones  in  your 
dish,  knows  how  the  animal  barks  and  flies  at  th»  poor  who 
come  to  the  door.  The  Twysdens,  father  and  son,  were  of  this 
canine  species ;  and  there  are  vast  packs  of  such  dogs  here  and 
elsewhere. 

If  Philip  opened  his  heart  to  us,  and  talked  unreservedly 
regarding  his  hopes  and  his  plans,  you  may  be  sure  he  had  his 
little  friend,  Mrs.  Brandon,  also  in  his  confidence,  and  that  no 
person  in  the  world  was  more  eager  to  serve  him.  While  we 
were  talking  about  what  was  to  be  done,  this  little  lady  was  also 
at  work  in  her  favorite's  behalf.  She  had  a  firm  ally  in  Mrs. 
Mugford,  the  proprietor's  lady  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  Mrs. 
Mugford  had  long  been  interested  in  Philip,  his  misfortunes,  and 
his  love-affairs.  The3e  two  good  women  had  made  a  sentimental 
hero  of  him.  Ah !  that  they  could  devise  some  feasible  scheme 
to  help  him  !  And  such  a  chance  actually  did  very  soon  present 
itself  to  these  delighted  women. 

In  almost  all  the  papers  of  the  new  year  appeared  a  brilliant 
advertisement,  announcing  the  speedy  appearance  in  Dublin  of 
a  new  paper.  It  was  to  be  called  The  Shamrock,  ag$  its  first 
number  was  to  be  issued  on  the  ensuing  St.  Patrick's  day.  I 
need  not  quote  at  length  the  advertisements  which  heralded  the 
advent  of  this  new  periodical.  The  most  famous  pens  of  the 
national  party  in  Ireland  were,  of  course,  engaged  to  contribute 
to  its?  columns.  Those  pens  would  be  hammered  into  steel  of  a 
different  shape  when  the  opportunity  should  offer.  Beloved 
prelates,  authors  of  world-wide  fame,  bards,  the  bold  strings  of 
whose  lyres  had  rung  through  the  isle  already,  and  made  mil- 
lions of  noble  hearts  to  beat,  and,  by  consequence,  double  the 
number  of  eyes  to  fill ;  philosophers,  renowned  for  science ;  and 
illustrious  advocates,  whose  manly  voices  had  ever  spoken  the 
language  of  hope  and  freedom  to  an  etc.,  etc.,  would  be  found 
rallying  round  the  journal,  and  proud  to  wear  the  symbol  of  The 
Shamrock.  Finally,  Michael  Cassidy,  Esq.,  was  chosen  to  be  the 
editor  of  this  new  journal.        -  r 

This  was  the  M.  Cassidy,  Esq.,  who  appeared,  I  think,  at  Mr. 
Firmin's  call-supper ;  and  who  had  long  been  the  sub-editor  of 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.     If  Michael  went  to  Dame  street,  why 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  34  9 

should  not  Philip  be  sub-editor  at  Pall  Mall?  Mrs.  Brandon 
argued.  Of  course  there  would  be  a  score  of  candidates  for 
Michael's  office.  The  editor  would  like  the  patronage.  Barnet, 
Mugford's  partner  in  the  Gazette,  would  wish  to  appoint  his  man. 
Cassidy,  before  retiring,  would  assuredly  intimate  his  approach- 
ing resignation  to  scores  of  gentlemen  of  his  nation,  who  would 
not  object  to  take  the  Saxon's  pay  until  they  finally  shook  his 
yoke  off,  and  would  eat  his  bread  until  the  happy  moment  arrived 
when  they  could  knock  out  his  brains  in  fair  battle.  As  soon  as 
Mrs.  Brandon  heard  of  the  vacant  place,  that  moment  she  deter- 
mined that  Philip  should  have  it.  It  was  surprising  what  a 
quantity  of  information  our  little  friend  possessed  about  artists, 
and  pressmen,  and  their  lives,  families,  ways,  and  means.  Many 
gentlemen  of  both  professions  came  to  Mr.  Ridley's  chambers, 
and  called  on  the  Little  Sister  on  their  way  to  and  fro.  How 
Tom  Smith  had  left  the  Herald,  and  gone  to  the  Post;  what 
price  Jack  Jones  had  for  his  picture,  and  who  sat  for  the  prin- 
cipal figures.  I  promise  you  Madam  Brandon  had  all  these 
interesting  details  by  heart ;  and  I  think  I  have  described  this 
little  person  very  inadequately  if  I  have  not  made  you  under- 
stand that  she  was  as  intrepid  a  little  jobber  as  ever  lived,  and 
never  scrupled  to  go  any  length  to  serve  a  friend.  To  be  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  to  be  professor  of  Hebrew,  to  be  teacher 
of  a  dancing-school,  to  be  organist  for  a  church ;  for  any  con- 
ceivable place  or  function  this  little  person  would  kave  asserted 
Philip's  capability.  "  Don't  tell  me  !  He  can  dance  or  preach 
(as  the  case  may  be)  or  write  beautiful !  And  as  for  being  unfit 
to  be  a  sub-editor,  I  want  to  know  has  he  not  as  good  a  head 
and  as  good  an  education  as  that  Cassidy,  indeed  ?  And  is  not 
Cambridge  College  the  best  college  in  the  world  ?  It  is,  I  say. 
And  he  went  there  ever  so  long.  And  he  might  have  taken  the 
very  best  prize,  only  money  was  no  object  to  him  then,  dear 
fellow,  and  he  did  not  like  to  keep  the  poor  out  of  what  he  did  n't 
want !" 

Mrs.  Mugford  had  always  considered  the  young  man  as  very 
haughty,  but  quite  the  gentleman,  and  speedily  was  infected  by 
her  gossip's  enthusiasm  about  him.  My  wife  hired  a  fly,  packed 
several  of  the  children  into  it,  called  upon  Mrs.  Mugford,  and 
chose  to  be  delighted  with  that  lady's  garden,  with  that  lady's 
nursery — with  everything  that  bore  the  name  of  Mugford.  It 
was  a  curiosity  to  remark  in  what  a  flurry  of  excitement  these 
women  plunged,  and  how  they  schemed,  and  coaxed,  and  caballed, 
in  order  to  get  this  place  for  their  protege".  My  wife  thought 
— she  merely  happened  to  surmise :  nothing  more,  of  course — 
that  Mt.  Mugford's  fond  desire  was  to  shine  in  the  world. 
Could  we  not  ask  some  people — with — what  you  call  handles  to 
their  names — I  think  I  before  heard  you  use  some  such  term,  sir — 
to  meet  the  Mugfords?     Some  of  Philip's  old  friends,  who  I 


350  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

am  sure  would  be  very  happy  to  serve  him.  Some  such  artifice 
was,  I  own,  practised.  We  coaxed,  cajoled,  fondled  the  Mug- 
fords  for  Philip's  sake,  and  heaven  forgive  Mrs.  Laura  hen.hypoc- 
risy.  We  had  an  entertainment  then,  I  own.  We  asked  our 
finest  company,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mugford  to  meet  them ; 
and  we  prayed  that  unlucky  Philip  to  be  on  his  best  behavior  to 
all  persons  who  were  invited  to  the  feast. 

Before  my  wife  this  lion  of  a  Firmin  was  as  a  lamb.  Rough, 
captious,  and  overbearing  in  general- society,  with  those  whom  he 
loved  and  esteemed  Philip  was,  of  all  men,  the  most  modest  and 
humble.  He  would  never  tire  of  plaving  with  our  children, 
joining  in  their  games,  laughing  and  roaring  at  their  little  sports. 
I  have  never  had  such  a  laugher  at  my  jokes  as  Philip  Firmin. 
I  think  my  wife  liked  him  for  that  noble  guffaw  with  which  he 
used  to  salute  those  pieces  of  wit.  He  arrived  a  little  late  some- 
times with  his  laughifig  chorus,  but  ten  people  at  table  were  not 
so  loud  as  this  faithful  friend.  On  the  contrary,  when  those 
people  for  whom  he  has  no  liking  venture  on  a  pun  or  other 
pleasantry,  I  am  bound  to  own  that  Philip's  acknowledgment  of 
their  waggery  must  be  anything  but  pleasant  or  flattering  to 
them.  Now,  on  occasion  of  this  important  dinner,  I  enjoined  him 
to  be  very  kind,  and  very  civil,  and  very  much  pleased  with 
everybody,  and  to  stamp  upon  nobody's  corns,  as,  indeed,  why 
should  he,  in  life  ?  Who  was  he  to  be  censor  morum  ?  And  it 
has  been  said  that  no  man  could  admit  his  own  faults  with  a  more 
engaging  candor  than  our  friend. 

We  invited,  then,  Mugford,  the  proprietor  of  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette,  and  his  wife ;  and  Bickerton,  the  editor  of  that  periodical ; 
Lord  Ascot,  Philip's  old  college  friend;  and  one  or  two  more 
gentlemen.  Our  invitations  to  the  ladies  were  not  so  fortunate. 
Some  were  engaged,  others  awa}r  in  the  country  keeping  Christ- 
mas. In  fine,  we  considered  ourselves  rather  lucky  in  securing 
old  Lady  Hixie7  who  lives  hard  by  in  Westminster,  and  who  will 
pass  for  a  lady  of  fashion  when  no  person  of  greater  note  is  pres- 
ent. My  wife  told  her  that  the  object  of  the  dinner  was  to  make 
our  friend  Firmin  acquainted  with  the  editor  and  proprietor  of 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  with  whom  it  was  important  that  he 
should  be  on  the  most  amicable  footing.  Oh  !  very  well.  Lady 
Hixie  promised  to  be  quite  gracious  to  the  newspaper  gentleman 
and  his  wife;  and  kept  her  promise  most  graciously  during  the 
evening.  Our  good  friend,  Mrs.  Mugford,  was  the  first  of  our 
guests  to  arrive.  She  drove  "in  her  trap"  from  her  villa  in  the 
suburbs  ;  and  after  putting  up  his  carriage  at  a  neighboring  liv- 
ery-stable, her  groom  volunteered  to  help  our  servants  in  waiting 
at  dinner.  His  zeal  and  activity  were  remarkable.  China 
smashed,  and  dish-covers  clanged  in  the  passage.  Mrs.  Mugford 
said  that  "  Sam  *ras  at  his  old  tricks ;"  and  I  hope  the  hostess 
showed  she  was  mistress  of  herself  amidst  that  fall  of  china.     Mrs. 


s 

ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  351 

Mugford  came  before  the  appointed  hour,  she  said,  in  order  to  see 
our  children.  "  With  our  late  London  dinner  hours,"  she  remark- 
ad,  "children  was  never  seen  now."  At  Hampstead,  hers  always 
appeared  at  the  dessert,  and  enlivened  the  table  with  their  inno- 
cent outcries  for  oranges  and  struggles  for  -sweetmeats.  In  the 
nursery,  where  one  little  maid,  in  ner  crisp  long  night-gown,  was 
saying  her  prayers ;  where  another  little  person,  in  the  most  airy 
costume,  was  standing  before  the  great  barred  fire  ;  where  a  third 
Liliputian  was  sitting  up  in  its  nightcap  and  surplice,  surveying 
the  scene  below  from  its  crib,  the  ladies  found  our  dear  Little 
Sister  installed.  She  had  come  to  see  her  little  pets  ("she  had 
known  two  or  three  of  them  from  the  very  earliest  times).  She 
was  a  great  favorite  among  them  all ;  and,  I  believe,  conspired 
with  the  cook  down  below  in  preparing  certain  delicacies  for  the 
table.  A  fine  conversation  then  ensued  about  our  children, 
about  the  Mugford  children,  about  babies  in  general.  And  then 
the  artful  women  (thtff  house  mistress  and  the  Little  Sister) 
brought  Philip  on  the  tapis,  and  discoursed,  a,qui  mieux,  about 
his  virtues,  his  misfortunes,  his  engagement,  and  that  dear  little 
creature  to  whom  he  was  betrothed.  This  conversation  went  on 
until  carriage-wheels  were  heard  in  the  square,  and  the  knocker 
(there  were  actually  knockers  in  that  old-fashioned  place  and 
tij^i)  began  to  peal.  "  Oh,  bother !  There  's  the  company 
a-comin',"  Mrs.  Mugford  said ;  and  'arranging  her  cap *  and 
ilounces,  with  neat-handed  Mrs.  Brandon's  aid,  came  down  stairs, 
after  taking  a  tender  leave  of  the  little  people,  to  whom  she  sent 
a  present  next  day  of  a  pile  of  fine  Christmas-hooks,  which  had 
come  to  the  Pail  M~<dl  Gazette  for  review.  The  kind  woman  had 
been  coaxed,  wheedled,  and  won  over  to  our  side — to  Philip's 
side.  He  had  her  vote  lor  the  sub-editorship,  whatever  might 
ensue. 

Most  of  our  guests  had  already  arrived,  when  at  length  Mrs. 
Mugford  w;<s  announced.  I  am  bound  to  say  that  she  presented 
a  remarkable  appearance,  and  that  the  splendor  of  her  attire-was 
such  as  is  seldom  beheld. 

Bickerton  and  Philip  were  presented  to  one  another,  and  had 
a  talk  about;  French  politics  before  dinner,  during  which  con- 
versation PhiMp  b"haved  with  perfect  discretion  and  politeness. 
Bickerton  had  happened  to  hear  Philip's  letters  well  spoken  of — 
in  a  good  quarter,  mind  ;  and  his  cordiality  increased  when  Lord 
Ascot  entered,  called  Philip  by  his  surname,  and  entered  into  a 
perfectly  free  conversation  with  him.  Old  Lady  Ilixie  went  into 
perfectly  good  society,  Bickerton  condescended  to  acknowledge. 
"As  for  Mis.  Mugford,"  says  he,  with  a  glance  of  wondering  com- 
panion at  that  lady,  "of  course,  1  need  not  tell  you  that  she  is 
seen  nowhere — nowhere."  This  said,  Mr.  Bickerton  stepped 
tbrward  and  calmly  patronized  my  wife,  gave  me  a  good-natured 
nod  for  my  own  part,  reminded  Lord  Ascot  that  he  had  had  the 


;)i>>>  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

pleasure  of  meeting  him  at  Egham ;  and  then  fixed  on  Tom  Page, 
of  the  Bread-and-Butter  office  (who,  I  own,  is  one  of  our  most 
genteel  guests),  with  whom  he  entered  into  a  discussion  of  some 
political  matter  of  that  day — I  forget  what :  but  the  main  point 
was  that  he  named  two  or  three  leading  public  men  with  whom 
he  had  discussed  the  question,  whatever  it  might  be.  He  named 
very  great  names,  and  led  us  to  understand  that  with  the  pro- 
prietors of  those  very  great  names  he  was  on  the  most  intimate 
and  confidential  footing.  With  his  owners — with  the  proprietor 
of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette — he  was  on  the  most  distant  terms,  and 
indeed  I  am  afraid  that  his  behavior  to  myself  and  my  wife  was 
scarcely  respectful.  I  fancied  I  saw  Philip's  brow  gathering 
wrinkles  as  his  eye  followed  this  man  strutting  from  one  person 
to  another,  and  patronizing  each.  The  dinner  was  a  little  late, 
from  some  reason  best  known  in  the  lower  regions.  "  I  take  it," 
says  Bickerton,  winking  at  Philip,  in  a  pause  of  the  conversation, 
"  that  our  good  friend  and  host  is  not  inwh  used  to  giving  din- 
ners. The  mistress  of  the  house  is  evidently  in  a  state  of  pertur- 
bation." Philip  gaye  such  a  horrible  grimace  that  the  other  at 
first  thought  he  was  in  pain. 

u  You,  who  have  lived  a  great  deal  with  old  Ringwood,  know 
what  a  good  dinner  is,"  Bickerton  continued,  giving  Firmin  a 
knowing  look. 

"Any  dinner  is  good  w-hich  is  accompanied  with  such  a  wel- 
come as  I  get  here,"  said  Philip. 

"  Oh  !  very  good  people,  very  good  people,  of  course  !"  cries 
Bickerton.         ^ 

I  need  not  say  he  thinks  he  has  perfectly  succeeded  in  adopt- 
ing the  air  of  a  man  of  the  world.  He  went  off  to  Lady  Hixie, 
and  talked  with  her  about  the  last  great  party  at  which  he  had 
met  her;  and  then  he  turned  to  the  host  and  remarked  that  my 
friend,  the  doctor's  son,  was  a  fine-looking  fellow.  In  five 
minutes  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  make  himself  hated  by  Mr. 
Firmin.  He  walks  through  the  world  patronizing  his  betters. 
"  Our  £ood  friend  is  not  much  used  to  giving  dinners — is  n't  heV" 
I  say,  what  do  we  mean  by  continuing  to  endure  this  man  ? 
Tom  Page,  of  the  Bread-and-Butter  office,  is  a  well-known  diner- 
out;  Lord  Ascot  is  an  earl's  son ;  Bickerton,  in  a  pretty  Joud 
voice,  talked  to  one  or  other  of  these  during  dinner,  and  across 
the.  table.  He  sat  next  to  Mrs.  Mugford,  but  he  turned  his  back 
on  that  bewildered  woman,  and  never  condescended  to  address  a 
word  to  her  personally.  "  Of  course,  I  understand  you,  my  dear 
fellow,"  he  said  to  me  when,  on  the  retreat  of  the  ladies,  we  ap- 
proached within  whispering  distance.  "  You  have  these  people 
at  dinner  for  reasons  of  state.  You  have  a  book  coming  out,  and 
want  to  have  it  noticed  in  the  paper.  I  make  a  point  of  keep- 
ing these  people  at  a  distance— the  only  way  of  dealing  with 
them,  I  give  you  my  word." 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  353 

Not  one  offensive  word  had  Philip  said  to  the  chief  writer  of 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  ;  and  1  began  to  congratulate  myself  that 
our  dinner  would  pass  without  any  mishap,  when  some  one 
unluckily  happening  to  praise  the  wine,  a  fresh  supply  was  order- 
ed. "  Very  good  claret.  Who  is  your  wine-merchant  ?  Upon 
my  word,  I  get  better  claret  here  than  I  do  in  Paris — don't  you 
think  so,  Mr.  Fermor?     Where  do  you  generally  dine  at  Paris?" 

"  I  generally  dine  for  thirty  sous,  and  three  francs  on  grand 
days,  Mr.  Beckerton,"  growls  Philip. 

"My  name  is  Bickerton."  ("  What  a  vulgar  thing  for  a  fel- 
low to  talk  about  his  thirty-sous  dinners  !"  murmured  my  neigh- 
bor to  me.)  "  Well,  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes !  When  I 
go  to  Paris  I  dine  at  the  Troij?  Freres.  Give  me  the  Burgundy 
at  Trois  Freres." 

"  That  is  because  you  great  leader-writers  are  paid  better  than 
poor  correspondents.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  be  able  to  dine 
better."  And  with  this  Mr.  Firmin  smiles  at  Mr.  Mugford,  his 
master  and  owner. 

"Nothing  so  vulgar  as  talking  shop,"  says  Bickerton,  rather 
loud. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed  of  the  shop  I  keep.  Are  you  of  yours, 
Mr.  Bickerton  V"  growls  Philip. 

"  F.  had  him  there,"  says  Mr.  Mugford. 

Mr.  Bickerton  got  up  from  table,  turning  quite  pale.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  be  offensive,  sir?"  he  asked. 

"  Offensive,  sir  ?  No,  sir.  Some  men  are  offensive  without 
meaning  it.  You  have  been  several  times  to-night!"  says  Lord 
Philip. 

U*I  don't  see  that  I  am  called  upon  to  bear  this  kind  of  thing 
at  any  man's  table  !"  cried  Mr.  Bickerton.  "  Lord  Ascot,  I  wish 
you  good-night !" 

"  I  say,  old  boy,  what  's  the  row  about  ?"  asked  his  lordship. 
And  we  were  all  astonished  as  my  guest  rose  and  left  the  table 
in  great  wrath. 

"  Serve  him  right,  Firmin,  I  say !"  said  Mr.  Mugford,  again 
drinking  off  a  glass. 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  ?"  says  Tom  Page,  "  His  father  keeps 
a  haberdasher's  shop  at  Cambridge,  and  sent  him  to  Oxford, 
where  he  took  a  good  degree." 

And  this  had  come  of  a  dinner  of  conciliation — a  dinner  which 
was  to  advance  Philip's  interest  in  life! 

"Hit  him  again,  1  say,"  cried  Mugford,  whom  wirie  had  ren- 
dered eloquent.  "  He  's  a  supercilious  beast,  that  Bickerton  is, 
and  I  hate  him,  and  so  does  Mrs,  M." 


354  TIIE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

NARRATES  THAT  FAMOUS  JOKE  ABOUT  MISS  GRIGSBY. 

For  once  Philip  found  that  he  had  offended  without  giving 
general  offence.  In  the  confidence  of  female  intercourse  Mrs. 
Mugford  had  already,  in  her  own  artless  but  powerful  language, 
confirmed  her  husband's  statement  regarding  Mr.  Bickerton,  and 
declared  that  B.  was  a  beast,  and  she  was  only  sorry  that  Mr.  F. 
had  not  hit  him  a  little  harder.  So  different  are  the  opinions 
which  different  individuals  entertain  of  the  same  event !  I 
happen  to  know  that  Bickerton,  on  his  side,  went  away  averring 
that  we  were  quarrelsome,  under-bred  people ;  and  that  a  man 
of  any  refinement  had  best  avoid  that  kind  of  society.  He  does 
really  and  seriously  believe  himself  our  superior,  and  will  lecture 
almost  any  gentleman  on  the  art  of  being  one.  This  assurance 
is  not  at  all  uncommon  with  your  parvenu.  Proud  of  his  newly- 
acquired  knowledge  of  exhausting  the  contents  of  an  egg,  the 
well-known  little  boy  of  the  apologue  rushed  to  impart  his  knowl- 
edge to  his  grandmother,  who  had  been  for  many  years  familiar 
with  the  process  which  the  child  had  just  discovered.  Which  of 
us  has  not  met  with  some  such  instructors  ?  I  know  men  who 
would  be  ready  to  step  forward  and  teach  Taglioni  how  to  dance, 
Tom  Sayers  how  to  box,  or  the  Chevalier  Bayard  how  to  be  a 
gentleman.  We  most  of  us  know  such  men,  and  undergo,  from 
time  to  time,  the  ineffable  benefit  of  their  patronage. 

Mugford  went  away  from  our  little  entertainment  vowing,  by 
George,  that  Philip  should  n't  want  for  a  friend  at  the  proper 
season  ;  and  this  proper  season  very  speedily  arrived.  I  laughed 
one  day,  on  going  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  office,  to  find  Philip 
installed  in  the  sub-editor's  room,  with  a  provision  of  scissors, 
wafers,  and  paste-pots,  snipping  paragraphs  from  this-paper  and 
that,  altering,  condensing,  giving  titles,  and  so  forth;  afid,  in  a 
word,  in  regular  harness.  The  three-headed  calves,  the  great 
prize  gooseberries,  the  old  maiden  ladies  of  wonderful  ages  who 
at  length  died  in  country-places— it  was  wonderful  (considering 
his  little  experience)  how  Firmin  hunted  out  these.  He  entered 
into  all  the  spirit  of  his  business.  He  prided  himself  on  the 
clever  titles  which  he  found  for  his  paragraphs.  When  his  paper 
was  completed  at  the  week's  end  he  surveyed  it  fondly — not  the 
leading  articles,  or  those  profound  and  yet  brilliant  literary 
essays  which  appeared  in  the  Gazette — but  the  births,  deaths, 
marriages,  markets,  trials,  and  what  not.  As  a  shop-boy,  haviog 
decorated  his  master's  window,  goes  into  the  street,  and,  pleased, 
surveys  his  work ;  so  the  fair  face  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette 
rejoiced  Mr.  Firmin,  and  Mr.  Bince,  the  printer  of  the  paper. 
They  looked  with  an  honest  pride  upon  the  result  of  their  joint 
labors.     Nor  did  Firmin  relish  pleasantry  on  the  subject.     Did 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THIS    WORLD.  355 

his  friends  allude  to  it,  and  ask  if  he  had  shot  any  especially  fine 
canard  that  week  ?  Mr.  Philip's  brow  would  corrugate  and  his 
cheeks  redden.  He  did  not  like  jokes  to  be  made  at  his  expense : 
was  not  his  a  singular  antipathy  ? 

In  his  capacity  of  sub-editor  the  good  fellow  had  the  privilege 
of  taking  and  giving  away  countless  theatre  orders,  and  pano- 
rama and  diorama  tickets :  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  was  not  above 
accepting  such  little  bribes  in  those  days,  and  Mrs.  Mugford's 
familiarity  with  the  names  of  opera-singers,  and  splendid  appear- 
ance in  an  opera-box,  was  quite  remarkable.  Friend  Philip 
would  bear  away  a  heap  of  these  cards  of  admission,  delighted  to 
carry  off  our  young  folks  to  one  exhibition  or  another.  But 
once  at  the  diorama,  where  our  young  people  sat  in  the  darkness, 
very  much  frightened  as  usual,  a  voice  from  out  the  midnight 
gloom  cried  out,  "  Who  has  come  in  with  orders  from  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette?"  A  lady,  two  scared  children,  and  Mr.  Sub-editor 
Philip,  all  trembled  at  this  dreadful  summons.  I  think  I  should 
not  dare  to  print  the  story  even  now,  did  I  not  know  that  Mr. 
Firmin  was  travelling  abroad.  It  was  a  blessing  the  place  was 
dark,  so  that  none  could  see  the  poor  sub-editor's  blushes. 
Rather  than  cause  any  mortification  to  this  lady,  I  am  sure  Philip 
would  have  submitted  to  rack  and  torture.  But,  indeed,  her 
annoyance  was  very  slight,  except  in  seeing  her  friend  annoyed. 
The  humor  of  the  scene  surpassed  the  annoyance  in  the  lady's 
mind,  and  caused  her  to  laugh  at  the  mishap  ;  but  I  own  our 
little  boy  (who  is  of  an  aristocratic  turn,  and  rather  too  sensitive 
to  ridicule  from  his  school-fellows)  was  not  at  all  anxious  to  talk 
upon  the  subject,  or  to  let  the  world  know  that  he  went  to  a 
place  of  public  amusement  "with  an  order."     t 

As  for  Philip's  landlady,  the  Little  Sister,  she,  you  know,  had 
been  familiar  with  the  press,  and  pressmen,  and  orders  for  the 
play,  for  years  past.  She  looked  quite  young  and  pretty,  with 
her  kind  smiling  face  and  neat  tight  black  dress,  as  she  came  to 
the  theatre — it  was  to  an  Easter  piece — on  Philip's  arm,  one 
evening.  Our  children  saw  her  from  their  cab,  as  they,  too, 
were  driving  to  the  same  performance.  It  was  "  Look,  mamma  ! 
There's  Philip  and  the  Little  Sister!"  And  then  came  such 
smiles,  and  nods,  and  delighted  recognitions  from  the  cab  to  the 
two  friends  on  foot !  Of  course  I  have  forgotten  what  was  the 
piece  which  wC  all  saw  on  that  Easter  evening.  But  those  chil- 
dren will  never  forget ;  no,  though  they  live  to  be  a  hundred 
years  old,  and  though  their  attention  was  distracted  from  the 
piece  by  constant  observation  of  jfhilip  and  his  companion  in  the 
public  boxes  opposite. 

Mr.  Firmiivs  work  and  pay  were  both  light,  and  he  accepted 
both  very  cheerfully.  He  saved  money  out  of  his  little  stipend. 
It  was  surprising  how  economically  he  could  live  with  his  little 
landlady's  aid  and*  counsel.     He  would  come  to  us,  recounting 


856  THK    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

his  feats  of  parsimony  with  a  childish  delight ;  he  loved  to  con- 
template his  sovereigns,  as  week  by  week  the  little  pile  accumu- 
lated. He  kept  a  noble  eye  upon  sales,  and  purchased  now  and 
again  articles  of  furniture.  In  this  way  he  brought  home  a  piano 
to  his  lodgings,  on  which  he  could  no  more  play  than  he  could  on 
the  tight-rope ;  but  he  was  given  to  understand  that  it  was  a  very 
fine  instrument;  and  my  wife  played  on  it  one  day  when  we  went 
to  visit  him,  and  he  sat  listening,  with  his  great  hands  on  his 
knees,  in  ecstacies.  He  was  thinking  how  one  day,  please 
heaven,  he  should  see  other  hands  touching  the  keys — and  player 
and  instrument  disappeared  in  a  mist  before  his  happy  eyes. 
His  purchases  were  not  always  lucky.  For  example,  he  was 
sadly  taken  in  at  an  auction  about  a  little  pearl  ornament.  Some 
artful  Hebrews  at  the  sale  conspired  and  ran  him  up,  as  the 
phrase  is,  to  a  price  more  than  equal  to  the  value  of  the  trinket. 
"  But  you  know  who  it  was  for,  ma'am,"  one  of  Philip's  apologists 
said.  "  If  she  would  like  to  wear  his  ten  fingers  he  would  cut  'em 
off  and  send  'em  to  her.  But  he  keeps  'em  to  write  her  letters 
and  verses — and  most  beautiful  they  are,  too." 

"And  the  dear  fellow,  who  was  bred  up  in  splendor  and  luxury, 
Mrs.  Mugford,  as  you,  ma'am,  know  too  well — he  won't  drink  no 
wine  now.  A  little  whiskey  and  a  glass  of  beer  is  all  he  takes. 
And  his  clothes — he  who  used  to  be  so  grand — you  see  how  he  is 
now,  ma'am.  Always  the  gentleman,  and,  indeed,  a  finer  or 
grander  looking  gentleman  never  entered  a  room ;  but  he  is 
saving — you  know  for  what,  ma'am." 

And,  indeed,  Mrs.  Mugford  did  know;  and  so  did  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis  and  Mrs.  Brandon.  And  these  three  women  worked 
themselves  into  a  perfect  fever,  interesting  themselves  for  Mr. 
Firmin.  And  Mugford,.  in  his  rough,  funny  way,  used  to  say, 
"  Mr.  P.,  a  certain  Mr.  Heff  has  come  and  put  our  noses  out  of 
joint.  He  has,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Hem.  And  I  am  getting 
quite  jealous  of  our  sub-editor,  and  that  is  the  long  and  short  of 
it.  But  it  's  good  to  see  him  haw-haw  Bickerton  if  ever  they 
meet  in  the  office,  that  it  is  1  Bickerton  won't  bully  him  any 
more,  I  promise  you  !" 

The  conclaves  and  conspiracies  of  these  women  were  endless 
in  Philip's  behalf.  One  day  I  let  the  Little  Sister  out  of  my 
house,  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  in  a  great  state  of 
flurry  and  excitement,  which  perhaps  communicates  itself  to  the 
gentleman  who  passes  her  at  his  own  door.  The  gentleman's 
wife  is,  on  her  part,  not  a  little  moved  and  excited.  ''What  do 
you  think  Mrs.  Brandon  says ?  Philip  is  learning  short-hand. 
He  says  he  does  not  think  he  is  clever  enough  to  be  a  writer  of 
any  mark  ;  but  he  can  be  a  reporter,  and  with  this  and  his  place 
at  Mr.  Mugford 's,  he  thinks  he  can  earn  enough  to —  Oh,  he  's 
a  fine  feliow  !"  I  suppose  feminine  emotion  stopped  the  comple- 
tion of  this  speech.     But  when  Mr.  Philip  slouched  in  to  dinner 


OH  HIS  WAV  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  867 

that  day  his  hostess  did  homage  before  him  :  she  loved  him ;  she 
treated  him  with  a  tender  respect  and  sympathy  which  her  like 
are  ever  wont  to  bestow  upon  brave  and  honest  men  in  misfort- 
une. 

Why  should  not  Mr.  Philip  Firmin,  barrister-at-law,  bethink 
him  that  he  belonged  to  a  profession  which  has  helped  very  many 
men  to  competence,  and  not  a  few  to  wealth  and  honors  V  A 
barrister  might  surely  hope  for  as  good  earnings  as  could  be 
made  by  a  newspaper  reporter.  We  all  know  instances  of  men 
who,  having  commenced  their  careers  as  writers  for  the  press, 
had  carried  on  the  legal  profession  simultaneously,  and  attained 
the  greatest  honors  of  the  bar  and  the  oeneh.  "  Can  I  sit  in  a 
Pump-court  garret  waiting  for  attorneys  ?"  asked'poor  Phil ;  u  I 
shall  break  my  heart  before  they  come.  My  brains  are  not  worth 
much  :  I  should  addle  them  all  together  in  poring  over  law- 
books. I  am  not  at  all  H  clever  fellow,  you  see  ;  and  I  have  n't 
the  ambition  and  obstinate  will  to  succeed  which  carry  on  many 
a  man  with  no  greater  capacity  than  my  own.  I  may  have  as 
good  brains  as  Bickerton,  for  example  ;  but  I  am  not  so  bumptious 
as  he  is.  By  claiming  the  first  place  wherever  he  goes  he  gets- it 
very  often.  My  dear  friends,  don't  you  see  how  modest  I  am  ? 
There  never  was  a  man  less  likely  to  get  on  than  myself — you 
must  own  that ;  and  I  tell  you  that  Charlotte  and  I  must  look 
forward  to  a  life  of  poverty,  of  cheese-paring^  and  second-floor 
lodgings  at  Pentonville  or  Islington.  That 's  aoout  my  mark.  I 
would  let  her  off',  only  I  know  she  would  not  take  me  at  my 
word — the  dear  little  thing !  She  has  set  her  heart  upon  a  hulk- 
ing pauper :  that  's  the  truth.  And  I  tell  you  what  I  am  going 
to  do.  I  am  going  seriously  to  learn  the  profession  of  poverty, 
and  make  myself  master  of  it.  What 's  the  price  of  cow-heel  and 
tripe  ?  You  don't  know.  I  do ;  and  the  right  place  to  buy  'em. 
I  am  as  good  a  judge  of  sprats  as  any  mau  in  London.  My  tap 
in  life  is  to  be  small-beer  henceforth,  and  I  am  growing  quite  to 
like  it,  and  think  it  is  brisk,  and  pleasant,  and  wholesome." 
There  was  not  a  little  truth  in  Philip's  account  of  himself,  and 
his  capacities  and  incapacities.  Doubtless,  he  was  not  born  to 
make  a  great  name  for  himself  in  the  world.  But  do  we  like 
those  only  who  are  famous  ?  As  well  say  we  will  only  give  our 
regard  to  men  who  have  ten  thousand  a  year,  or  are  more  than 
six  feet  high. 

While  of  his  three  female  friends  and  advisers,  my  wife 
admired  Philip's  humility,  Mrs.  Brandon  and  Mrs.  Mugford  were 
rather  disappointed  at  his  want  of  spirit,  and  to  think  that  he 
aimed  so  low.  I-  shall  not  say  which  side  Firmin's  biographer 
took  in  this  matter.  Was  it  my  business  to  applaud  or  rebuke 
him  for  being  humble-minded,  or  was  I  called  upon  to  advise  at 
all  ?„  My  amiable  reader,  acknowledge  that  you  and  I  in  life 
pretty  much  go  our  own  way.     We   eat   the  dishes  we  like 


858  THE   ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

because  we  like  them,  not  because  our  neighbor  relishes  them. 
We  rise  early,  or  sit  up  late ;  we  work,  idle,  smoke,  or  what  not, 
because  we  choose  so  to  do,  not  because  the  doctor  orders. 
Philip,  then,  was  like  you  and  me,  who  will  have  our  own  way 
when  we  can.  Will  we  not?  If  you  won't,'  you  do  not  deserve 
it.  Instead  of  hungering  after  a  stalled  ox,  he  was  accustoming 
himself  to  be  content  with  a  dinner  of  herbs.  Instead  of  braving 
the  tempest  he  chose  to  take  in  sail,  creep  along  shore,  and  wait 
lor  calmer  weather. 

So,  on  Tuesday  of  every  week  let  us  say,  it  was  this  modest 
sub-editor's  duty  to  begin  snipping  and  pasting  paragraphs  for 
the  ensuing  Saturday's  issue.  Hi'  cut  down  the.  parliamentary' 
Bpeeches,  giving  due  favoritism  to  the  orators  of  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette  party,  and  meagre  outlines  of  their  opponents'  dis- 
courses. If  the  leading  public  men  on  the  side  of  the  Pali  Matt 
le  gave  entertainments,  you  maybe  sure  they  were  duly 
chronicled  in  the  fashionable  intelligence;  if  one  of  their  party 
wrote  a  book  it  was  pretty  sure  to  get  praise  from  the  critic.  1 
am  speaking  of  simple  old  days,  you  understand.  Of  course 
there,  is  no  puffing,  or  jobbing,  or  false  praise,  or  unfair  censure 
now.  Every  critic  knows  what  he  is  writing  about,  and  writes 
with -no  aim  but  to  tell  the  truth. 

Thus  Philip,  the  dandy  of  two  years  back,  was,content  to  wear 
the  shabbiest  oldxioat;  Philip,  the  Philippus  of  one-and-twenty, 
who  rode  showy  horses,  and  rejoiced  to  display  his  horse  and  per- 
son in  the  Park,  now  humbly-took  his  place  in  an  omnibus,  and 
only  on  occasions  indulged  in  a  cab.  From  the  roof  of  the  larger 
vehicle  he  would  salute  his  friends  with  perfect  affability,  and 
stare  down  on  his  aunt  as  she  passed  in  her  barouche.  He  never 
could  be  quite  made  to  acknowledge  that  she  purposely  would 
not  see  him  ;  or  he  would  attribute  her  blindness  to  the  quarrel 
which  they  had  had,  not  to  his  poverty  and  present  position. 
As  for  his  cousin  Ringwood,  "  That  fellow  would  commit  any 
baseness,"  Philip  acknowledged  :  "  and  it  is  I  who  have  cut  him" 
our  friend  averred. 

A  real  danger  was  lest  our  friend  should  in  his  poverty  become 
more  haughty,  and  insolent  than  he4iad  been  in  his  days  of  better 
fortune,  and  that  he  should  make  companions  of  men  who  were 
not  his  equals.  Whether  was  it  better  for  him  to  be  slighted  in 
a  fashionable  club,  or  to  swagger  at  the  head  of  the  company  in. 
a  tavern  parlor  V  This  was  the  danger  we  might  fear  for  Firmin. 
It  was  impossible  not  to  confess  that  he  was  choosing  to  take  a 
lower  place  in  the  world  than  that  to  which  he  had  been  born. 

Xi  Do  you  mean  that  Philip  is  lowered  because  he  is  poor  ?" 
asked  an  angry  lady,  to  whom  this  remark  was  made  b);  her 
husband — man  and  wife  being  both  very  good  friends  to  Mr. 
Firmin. 

"  My  dear,"  repliesvthe  worldling  of  a  husband,  "  suppose  Philip 


OK   HIS   WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  359 

were  to  take  a  fancy  to  buy  a  donkey  and  sell  cabbages? 
He  would  be  doing  no  harm  ;  but  there  is  no  doubt  he  would 
lower  himself  in  the  world's  estimation." 

"  Lower  himself!"  says  the  lady,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  No 
man  lowers  himself  by  pursuing  an  honest  calling.     No  man  !" 

"  Very  good.  There  is  Grundsell,  the  green-grocer,  out  of 
Tuthill  street,  who  waits  at  our  dinners.  Instead  of  asking  him 
to  wait,  we  should  beg  him  to  sit  down  at  table  ;  or  perhaps  we 
should  wait,  and  stand  with  a  napkin  behind  Grundsell." 

"  Nonsense !" 

"  Grundsell's  calling  is  strictly  honest,  unless  he  abuses  his 
opportunities  and  smuggles  away — " 

"  — smuggles  away  stuff  and  nonsense  I" 

"  Very  good  ;  .  Grundsell  is  not  a  fitting  companion,  then,  for 
us,  or  the  nine  little  Grundsells  for  our  children.  Then  why 
should  Philip  give  up  the  friends  of  his  youth,  and  forsake  a  club 
for  a  tavern  parlor?  You  can't  say  our  little  friend,  Mrs.  Bran- 
don, good  as  she  is,  is  a  fitting  companion  for  him?" 

M  If  he  had  a  good  little  wife,  he  would  have  a  companion  of 
his  own  degree  ;  and  he  would  be  twice  as  happy  ;  and  he  would 
be  out  of  all  danger  and  temptation — and  the  best  thing  he  can 
do  is  to  marry  directly  !"  cries  the  lady.  "  And,  my  dear,  I 
think  I  shall  write  to  Charlotte  and  ask  her  to  come  and  stay  with 
us." 

'  There  was  no  withstanding  this  argument.  As  long  as  Char- 
lotte was  with  us  we  were  sure  Philip  would  be.  out  of  harm's  way, 
and  seek  for  no  other  company.  There  was  a  snug  little  bedroom 
close  by  the  quarters  inhabited  by  our  own  children.  My  wife 
pleased  herself  by  adorning  this  chamber,  and  uncle  Mae  happen- 
ing to  come  to  London  on  business  about  this  timo,  the  young 
lady  '  ame  over  to  us  under  his  convoy,  and  I  should  like  to  de 
scribe  the  meeting  between  her  and  Mr.  Philip  in  our  parlor. 
No  doubt  it  was  very  edifying.  But  my  wife  and  I  wen*  not 
"present,  vnus  conpevez.  We  only  heard  one  shout  of  surprise  aud 
delight  from  Philip  as  he  went  into  the  room  where  the  young 
lady  was  waiting.  We  had  but  said,  l>  Go  into  the  parlor,  Philip. 
You  will  find  your  old  friend,  Major  Mae,  there.  He  has  come 
to  London  on  business,  and  has  news  of — "  There  was  no  need 
to  speak,  for  here  Philip  straightway  bounced  into  the  room. 

Aud  then  came  the  shout.  And  then  out  came  Major  Mae, 
with  such  a  droll  twinkle  in  his  eyes!  What  artifices  and  bypOC- 
risies  had  we  not  to  practice  previously,  so  as  to  keep  our  secret. 
from  our  children,  who  assuredly  would  have  discovered  it!  1 
must  tell  you  that  the  paterfamilias  had  guarded  against  the 
innocent  prattle  and  inquiries  of  the  children  regarding  the  prep- 
aration of  the  little  bedroom,  by  informing  them  thai  it  was 
intended  tor  Mi-.-  Grigsby,  the  governess;  with  whose  advert  I 
had  long  U<n    threatened.     And  one  of  our   .eiils    wbon  the 


3«0  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

unconscious  Philip  arrived,  said,  "  Philip,  if  you  go  into  the  parlor 
you  will  find  Miss  Grigsby,  the  governess,  there.""  And  then  Philip 
entered  into  that  parlor,  and  then  arose  that  shout,  and  then 
out  came  uncle  Mac,  and  then,  etc.,  etc.  And  we  called  Char- 
lotte Miss  Grigsby  all  dinner-time ;  and  we  called  her  Miss  Grigs- 
by next  day ;  and  the  more  we  called  her  Miss  Grigsby  the  more 
we  all  laughed.  And  the  baby,  who  could  not  speak  plain  yet, 
called  her  Miss  Gibby,  and  laughed  loudest  of  all ;  and  it  was 
such  fun.  But  I  think  Philip  and  Charlotte  had  the  best  of  the 
fun,  my  dears,  though  they  may  not  have  laughed  quite  so  loud 
as  we  did. 

As  for  Mrs.  Brandon,  who,  you  may  be  sure,  speedily  came  to 
pay  us  a  "visit,  Charlotte  blushed,  and  looked  quite  beautiful 
when  she  went  up  and  kissed  the  Little  Sister.  **  He  have  told 
you  about  me,  then !"  she  said,  in  her  soft  little  voice,  smoothing 
the  young  lady's  brown  hair.  "  Should  I  have  known  him  at 
all  but  for  you,  and  did  you  not  save  his  life  for  me  when  he  was 
ill  ?"  asked  Miss  Baynes.  "And  may  n't  I  love  everybody  who 
loves  him  T'  she  asked.  And  we  left  those  women  alone  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which  they  became  the  most  intimate 
friends  in  the  world.  And  all  our  household,  great  and  small, 
including  the  nurse  (a  woman  of  a  most  jealous,  domineering, 
and  uncomfortable  fidelity),  thought  well  of  our  gentle  young 
guest,  and  welcomed  Miss  Grigsby. 

Charlotte,  you  see,  is  not  so  exceedingly  handsome  as  to  cause 
other  women  to  perjure  themselves  by  protesting  that  she  is  no 
great  things  after  all.  At  the  period,  with  which  we  are  con- 
cerned she  certainly  had  a  lovely  complexion,  which  her  black 
dress  set  off,  perhaps.  And  when  Philip  used  to  come  into  the 
room  she  had  always  a  fine  garland  of  roses  ready  to  offer  him, 
and  growing  upon  her  cheeks,  the  moment  he  appeared.  Her 
manners  are  so  entirely  unaffected  and  simple  that  they  can't  be 
otherwise  than  good  ;  for  is  she  not  grateful,  truthful,  unconscious 
of  self,  easily  pleased,  and  interested  in  others?  Is  she  very 
witty  ?  I  never  said  so — though  that  she  appreciated  some  men's 
wit  (whose  names  need  not  be  mentioned)  I  can  not  doubt.  "  I 
say,"  cries  Philip,  on  that  memorable  first  night  of  her  arrival, 
and  when  she  and  other  ladies  had  gone  to  bed,  "  by  George  ! 
is  n't  she  glorious,  I  say  !  What  can  I  have  done  to  win  such  a 
pure  little  heart  as  that  ?  Non  sum  dignus.  It  is  too  much 
happiness — too  much,  by  George  1"  And  his  voice  breaks 
behind  his  pipe,  and  he  squeezes  two  fists  into  eyes  that  are 
brimful  of  joy  and  thanks.  Where  Fortune  bestows  such  a 
bounty  as  this,  I  think  we  need  not  pity  a  man  for  what  she 
withdraws.  As  Philip  walks  away  at  midnight  (walks  away  ?  is 
turned  out  of  doors,  or  surely  he  would  have  gone  on  talking  till 
dawn),  with  the  rain  beating  in  his  face,  and  fifty  or  a  hundred 
pounds  for  all  his  fortune  in  his  pocket,  I  think  there  goes  one 


on  his  way  through  the  world,  361 

^of  the  happiest  of  men — the  happiest  and  richest.  For  is  he 
not  possessor  of  a  treasure  which  he  could  not  buy,  or  would 
not  sell,  for  all  the  wealth  of  the  world  ? 

My  wife  may  say  what  she  will,  but  she  assuredly  is  answera- 
ble for  the  invitation  to  Miss  Baynes,  and  for  all  that  ensued  in 
consequence..  At  a  hint  that  she  would  be  a  welcome  guest  in 
our  house  in  London,  where  all  her  heart  and  treasure  lay, 
Charlotte  Baynes  gave  up  straightway  her  dear  airht  at  Tours, 
who  had  been  kind  to  her ;  her  dear  uncle,  her  dear  mamma, 
and  all  her  dear  brothers — following  that  natural  law  which 
ordains  that  a  woman,  under  certain  circumstances,  shall  resign 
home,  parents,  brothers,  sisters,  for  the  sake  of  that  one  individ- 
ual who  is  henceforth  to  be  dearer  to  her  than  all.  Mrs.  Baynes, 
the  widow,  growled  a  complaint  at  her  daughter's  ingratitude, 
but  did  not  refuse  her  consent.  She  may  have  known  that  little 
Ilely,  Charlotte's  volatile  admirer,  had  fluttered  off  to  another 
flower  by  this  time,  and  that  a  pursuit  of  that  butterfly  was  in 
vain  ;  or  she  may  have  heard  that  he  was  going  to  pass  the 
spring — the  butterfly  season — in  London,  and  hoped  that  he 
perchance  might  again  light  on  her  girl.  Howbeit,  she  was  glad 
enough  that  her  daughter  should  accept  an  invitation  to  our 
house,  and  owned  that  as  yet  the  poor  child's  share  of  this  life's 
pleasures  had  been  but  small.  Charlotte's  modest  little  trunks 
were  again  packed,  then,  and  the  poor  child  was  sent  off,  I  won't 
say  with  how  small  a  provision  of  pocket-money,  by  her  mother. 
But  the  thrifty  woman  had  but  little,  and  of  it  was  determined 
to  give  as  little  as  she  could.  "  Heaven  will  provide  for  my 
child,"  she  would  piously  say  ;  and  hence  interfered  very  little 
with  those  agents  whom  heaven  sent  to  befriend  her  children- 
"Her  mother  told  Charlotte  that  she  would  send  her  some 
money  next  Tuesday,"  the  major  told  us ;  u  but,  between  our- 
selves, I  doubt  whether  she  will.  Between  ourselves,  my  sister- 
in-law  is  always  going  to  give  money  next  Tuesday  :  but  some- 
how Wednesday  comes,  and  the  money  has  not  arrived.  I  could 
not  let  the  little  maid  be  without  a  few  guineas,  and  have  pro- 
vided her  out  of  a  half-pay  purse;  but  mark  ine,  that  pay-day 
Tuesday  will  never  come."  Shall  I  deny.Qr  confirm  the  worthy 
major's  statement?  Thus  far  I  will  say,  that  Tuesday  most 
certainly  came;  and  a  letter  from  her  mamma  to  Charlotte, 
which  said  that  one  of  her  brothers  and  a  younger  sister  were 
going  to  stay  with  aunt  Mac;  and  that  as  Char  was,  so  happy 
with  her  most  hospitable  ami  kind  friends,  ajbnd,  widowed 
mother,  who  had  given,  up  all  pleasures  for  herself,  would  not 
interfere  to  prevent  a  darling  child's  happiness. 

It  has  been  said  that  three  women,  whose  names  have  been 
given  up,  were  conspiring  in  the  behalf  of  this  young  person 
and  the  young  man,  her  sweetheart.     Three  days  after  Char- 
lotte's arrival  at  our  house  my  wife  persists  in  thinking  that  a 
SI 


362  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHTLTp 

drive  into  the  country  would  do  the  child  good,  orders  a 
brougham,  dresses  Charlotte  in  her  best,  and  trots  away  to  see* 
Mrs.  Mugfbrd  at  Hampstead.  Mrs.  Brandon  is  at  Mrs.  Mugford's, 
of  course,  quite  by  chance;  and  I;  feel  sure  that  Charlotte's 
friend  compliments  Mrs.  Mugford  upon  her  garden,  upon  her 
nursery,  upon  her  luncheon,  upon  everything  that  is  hers. 
14  Why,  dear  me,"  says  Mrs.  Mugford  (as  the  ladies  discourse 
upon  a  certain  subject),  "  what  does  it  matter  ?  Me  and  Mug- 
lord  married  on  two  pound  a  week,  and  on  two  pound  a  week 
my  dear  eldest  children  were  born.  It  was  a  hard  struggle 
sometimes,  but  we  were  all  the  happier  for  it;  and  I  'm  sure  if  a 
man  won't  risk  a  little  he  don't  deserve  much.  I  know  I  would 
risk,  if  I  were  a  man,  to  marry  such  a  pretty  young  dear.  And 
I  should  take  a  young  man  to  be  but  a  mean-spirited  fellow  who 
waited  and  went  shilly-shallying  when  he  had  but  to  say  the 
word  and  be  happy.  I  thought  Mr.  F.  was  a  brave,  courageous 
gentleman — I  did,  Mrs.  Brandon.  Do  you  want  me  for  to  have 
a  bad  opinion  of  him  V  My  dear,  a  little  of  that  cream.  It's 
very  good.  We  'ad  a  dinner  yesterday,  and  a  cook  down  from 
town  on  purpose."  This  speech,  with  appropriate  imitations  of 
voice  and  gesture,  was  repeated  to  the  present  biographer  by 
the  present  biographer's  wife,  and  he  now  began  to  see  in  what 
webs  arid  meshes  of  conspiracy  these  artful  women  had  enveloped 
the  subject  of  the  present  biography. 

Like  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  the  other  matron,  Charlotte's  friend, 
Mrs.  Mugford  became  interested  in  the  gentle  young  creature, 
and  kissed  her  kindly,  and  made  her  a  present  on. going  away. 
It  was  a  brooch  in.  the  shape  bf  a  thistle,  if  I  remember  aright, 
set  with  amethysts  and  a  lovely  Scottish  stone  called  a  carum- 
gorum.  "  She  ain't  no  style  about  her  ;  and  1  confess,  from  a 
general's  daughter,  brought  up  on  the  Continent,  I  should  have 
expected  better.  But  we  '11  show  her  a  little  of  the  world  and 
the  opera,  Brandon,  and  she  '11  do  very  well — of  that  I  make 
no  doubt."  And  Mrs.  Mugford  took  Miss  Baynes  to  the  opera, 
and  pointed  out  the  other  people  of  fashion  there  assembled. 
And  delighted  Charlotte  was  !  I  make  no  doubt  there  was  a 
young  gentleman  of  our  acquaintance  at  the  back  of  the  box 
who  was  very  happy  too.  And*  this  year  Philip's  kinsman's 
wife,  Lady  Ringwood,  had  a  box,  in  which  Philip  saw  her 
and  her  daughters,  and  little  Ringwood  Twysden  paying  as- 
siduous court  to  her  ladyship.  They  met  in  the  crush-room  b'y 
chance  a«*ain,"and  Lady  Ringwood  looked  hard  at  Philip  and 
the  blushing  young  lady  on  his  arm.  And  it  happened  that 
Mrs._  Mugford's  carriage — the  little  one-liorse  trap  which  opens 
and  shuts  so  conveniently — and  Lady  Ringwood  stall  emblazon- 
ed chariot  of  state,  stopped  the  way  together.  And  irom  the 
tall  emblazoned  chariot  the  ladies  looked  not  unkindly  at  the 
trap  which  contained  the  beloved  of  Philip's  heart;   and    the 


ON    HIS   WAY    THROUGH    THE    WOULD.  368 

carriages  departed  each  on  its  own  way ;  and  Ringwood  Twys- 
den,  seeing  his  cousin  advancing  toward  him,  turned  very  pale, 
and  dodged  at  a  double-quick  down  an  arcade.  But  he  need 
not  have  been  afraid  of  Philip.  Mr.  Firmin's  heart  was  all 
softness  and  benevolence  at  that  time.  He  was  thinking  of 
those  sweet,  sweet  eyes  that  had  just  glanced  to  him  a  tender 
good-night;  of  that  little  hand  which  a  moment  since  had  hung 
with  fond  pressure  on  his  arm.  Do  you  suppose  in  such  a  framo 
of  mind  he  had  leisure  to  think  of  a  nauseous  little  reptile 
crawling  behind  him  V  He  was  so  happy  that  night  that  Philip 
was  King  Philip  again.  And  he  went  to  the  Haunt,  and  sang 
his  song  of  Garryowen-na-gloHa,  and  greeted  the  boys  assembled, 
and  spent  at  least  three  shillings  over  his  supper  and  drinks. 
But  the  next  day  being  Sunday,  Mr.  Firmin  was  at  Westminster 
Abbey,  listening  to  the  sweet  church  chants,  by  the  side  of  the 
very  same  young  person  whom  he  had  escorted  to  the  opera  on 
the  night  before.  They  sate  together  so  close  that  one  must 
have  heard  exactly  as  well  as  the  other.  I  dare  say  it  is  edify- 
ing to  listen  to  anthems  a  deux.  And  how  complimentary  to 
tire  clergyman  to  have  to  wish  that  the  sermon  was  longer  ! 
Through  the  vast  cathedral  aisles  the  organ-notes  peal  gloriously  ! 
Ruby  and  topaz  and  amethyst  blaze  from  the  great  church 
windows.  Under  the  tall  arcades  the  young  people  went 
together.     Hand  in  hand  they  passed,  and  thought  no  ill. 

Do  gentle  readers  begin  to  tire  of  this  spectacle  of  billing  and 
cooing  ?  I  have  tried  to  describe  Mr.  Philip's  love  affairs  with 
as  few  words  and. in  as  modest  phrases  as  may  be — omitting  the 
raptures,  the  passionate  vows,  the  reams  of  correspondence,  and 
the  usual  commonplaces  of  his  situation.  And  yet,  my  dear 
madam,  though  you  and  1  may  be  past  the  age  of  billing  and 
cooing  ;  though  your  ringlets  which  1  remember  a  lovely  auburn, 
are  now — well — are  now  a  rich  purple  and  green  black,  and  my 
brow  may  be  as  bald  as  a  cannon-ball — I  say,  though  we  are 
old,  we  are  not  too  old  to  forget.  We  may  not  care  about  the 
pantomime  much  now,  but  we  like  to  take  the  young  folks,  and 
see  them  rejoicing.  From  the  window  where  -I  write,  I  can 
look  down  into  the  garden  of  a  certain  square.  In  that  garden 
1  can  at  this  moment  sec  a  young  gentleman  and  lady  of  my 
acquaintance  pacing  up  and  down.  They  are  talking  some  such 
talk  as  Milton,  imagines  our  first  parents  engaged  in  ;  and  yonder 
garden  is  a  paradise  to  my  young  friends.  Did  they  choose  to 
look  outside  the  railings  of  the  square,  or  at  any  other  objects 
than  each  other's  noses,  they  might  see — the  tax-gatherer  we 
will  say — with  his  book,  knocking  at  one  door,  the  doctor's 
brougham  at  a  second,  a  hatchment  over  the  windows  of  a  third  . 
mansion,  the  baker's  boy  discoursing  with  the  house-maid  over 
the  railings  of  a  fourth.  But  what  to  them  are  these  phenomena 
of  life  ?     Arm-in-arm  my  young  folks  go  pacing  up  and  down 


364  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

their  Eden,  and  diseoursing  about  that  happy  time  which  I  sup- 
pose is  now  drawing  near— about  that  charming  little  snuggery 
for  which  the  furniture  is  ordered,  and  to  which,  Miss,  your  old 
friend  and  very  humble  servant  will  take  the  liberty  of  forward- 
ing his  best  regards  and  a  neat  silver  teapot.  I  dare  say,  with 
these  young  people,  as  with  Mr.  Philip  and  Miss  Charlotte,  all 
occurrences  of  life  seem  to  have  reference  to  that  event  which 
forms  the  subject  of  their  perpetual  longing  and  contemplation. 
There  is  the  doctor's  brougham  driving  away,  and  Imogene 
says  to  Alonzo,  "  What  anguish  I  shall  have  if  you  are  ill !" 
Then  there  is  the  carpenter  putting  up  the  hatchment.  "Ah, 
my  love,  if  you  were  to  die,  I  think  they  might  put  up  a  hatch- 
ment for  both  of  us  !"  says  Alonzo,  with  a  killing  sigh.  Both 
sympathize  with  Mary  and  the  baker's  boy  whispering  over  the 
railings.  Go  to,  gentle  baker's  boy,  we  also  know  what  it  is  to 
love ! 

The  whole  soul  and  strength  of  Charlotte  and  Philip  being 
bent  upon  marriage,  I  take  leave  to  put  in  a  document  which 
PhiliD  received  at  this  time,  and  can  imagine  that  it  occasioned 
no  little  sensation : 

"Astor  House,  New  York. 
"And  so  you  are  returned  to  the  great  city — to  the  fnmum,  the 
strepitum,  and  I  sincerely  hope  the  opes  of  our  Rome!  Your  own 
tetters  are  but  brief;  but  I  have  an  occasional  correspondent  (there  are 
few,  alas!  who  remember  the  exile!)  who  keeps  me  au  courant  of  my 
Philip's  history,  and  tells  me  that  you  are  industrious,  that  you  are 
cheerful,  that  jow.  prosper.  Cheerfulness  is  the  companion  of  Industry, 
Prosperity  their  offspring.  That  that  prosperity  may  attain  the  fullest 
growth  is  an  absent  father's  fondest  prayer.  Perhaps  ere  long  I  shall 
be  able  to  announce  to  you  that  I  too  am  prospering.  I  am  engaged  in 
pursuing  a  scientific  discovery  here  (it  is  medical,  and  connected  with 
my  own  profession),  of  which  the  results  ought  to  lead  to  Fortune, 
unless  the  jade  has  for  ever  deserted  George  Brand  Firm  in  !  So  you 
have  embarked  in  the  drudgery  of  the  press,  and  have  become  a  mem- 
ber of  the  fourth  estate.  It  has  been  despised,  and  pressman  and 
poverty  were  for  a  long  time  supposed  to  be  synonymous.  But  the 
power,  the  wealth  of  the  press  are  daity  developing,  and  they  will 
increase  yet  further.  I  confess  I  should  have  liked  to  hear  that  my 
Philip  was  pursuing  his  profession  at  the  bar,  at  which  honor,  splendid 
competence,  nay,  aristocratic  rank,  are  the  prizes  of  the  bold,  the  indus- 
trious, and  the  deserving.  Why  should  you  not?  Should  I  not  still 
hope  that  you  may  gain  legal  eminence  and  position  ?  A  father  who 
has  had  much  to  suffer,  who  is  descending  the  vale  of  years  alone  and 
in  a  distant  land,  would  be  soothed  in  his  exile  if  he  thought  his  son 
would  one  day  be  able  to  repair  the  shattered  fortunes  of  his  race.  But 
it  is  not  yet,  I  fondly  think,  too  late.  You  may  yet  qualify  for  the 
bar,  and -one  of  its  prizes  may  fall  to  you.  I  confess  it  was  not  with- 
out a  pang  of  grief  I  heard  from  our  kind  little  friend  Mrs.  B.  you  were 
studying  short-hand  in  order  to  become  a  newspaper  reporter.  And 
has  Fortune^  then,  been  so  relentless  to  me  that  my  son  is  to  be  com- 
pelled to  follow  such  a  calling?  I  shall  try  and  be  resigned.  I  had 
hoped  higher  things  for  yon— -for  me. 


PI:  /O 

'■.;•-. 


'*v>*^* 


J    LETTER    FROM    NEW    YORK 


ON  HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  S65 

".My  dear  boy,  with  regard  to  your  romantic  attachment  for  Miss 
Baynes,  which  our  good  little  Brandon  narrates  to  me  in  her  peculiar 
orthography,  but  with  much  touching  simplicity,  I  make  it  a  rule  not  to 
say  a  word  of  comment,  of  warning,  or  remonstrance.  As  sure  as  you 
are  your  father's  son,  you  will  take  yonir  own  line  in  any  matter  of 
attachment  to  a  woman,  and  all  the  fathers  in  the  world  won't  stop  you. 
In  Philip  of  four-and-twenty  I  recognize  his  father  thirty  years  ago. 
My  father  scolded,  entreated,  quarrelled  with  me,  never  forgave  me.  I 
will  learn  to  be  more  generous  toward  my  son.  I  may  grieve,  but  I 
bear  you  no  malice.  If  ever  I  achieve  wealth  again,  you  shall  not  be 
deprived  of  it,  I  suffered  so  myself  from  a  harsh  father  that  I  will 
never  be  one  to  my  son  ! 

"As  you  have  put  on  the  livery  of  the  Muses,  and  regularly  entered 
yourself  of  the  Fraternity  of  the  Press,  what  say  you  to  a  little 
addition  to  your  income  by  letters  addressed  to  my  friend,  the  editor  of 
the  new  journal  called  her?  tho  Gazette  of  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand.  It 
is  the  fashionable  journal  published  hero;  and  your  qualifications  are 
precisely  those  which  would  make  your  services  valuable  as  a  contribu- 
tor. Doc.tor  Geraldine,  the  editor,  is  not,  I  believe,  a  relative  of  the 
Leinster  family,  but  a  self-made  man,  who  arrived  in  this  country  some 
years  since  poor,  and  an  exile  from  his  native  country.  He  advocates 
Repeal  politics  in  Ireland  ;  but  with  these,  of  course,  you  need  have 
nothing  to  do.  And  he  is  much  too  liberal  to  expect  these  from,  his 
t  contributors.  I  have  been  of  service  professionally  to  Mrs.  Geraldine 
and  himself.  My  friend  of  tho  Emerald  introduced  me  to  the  doctor. 
Terrible  enemies  in  print,  in  private  they  are  perfectly  good  friends, 
and  the  little  passages  of  arms  between  the  two  journalists  serve  rather 
to  amuse  than  to  irritate.  '  The  grocer's  boy  from  Ormond  quay ' 
(Geraldine  once,  it  appears,  engaged  in  that  useful  but  humble  calling), 
and  the  'miscreant  from  Cork  ' — the  editor  of  the  Emerald  comes  from 
that  city — assail  each  other  in  public,  but  drink  whiskey-and-water 
galore  in  private.  If  you  write  for  Geraldine,  of  course  you  will  say 
^nothing  disrespectful  about  grocers'1  boys.  His  dollars  are  good  silver, 
of  that  you  may  be  sure.  Dr.  G.  knows  a  part  of  your  history  ;  he 
knows  that  you  are  now  fairly  engaged  in  literary  pursuits  ;  that  you 
are  a  man  of  education,  a  gentleman,  a  man  of  the  world,  a  man  of 
courage.  I  have  answered  for  your  possessing  all  these  qualities. 
(The  doctor,  in  his  droll,  humorous  way,  said  that  if  you  were  a  chip 
of  the  old  block  you  would  be  just  what  he  called  'the  grit,')  Politi- 
cal treatises  are  not  so  much  wanted  as  personal  news  regarding  the 
notabilities  of  London,  and  these,  I  assured  him,  3*ou  were  the  very 
man  to  be  able  to  furnish.  You,  who  know  everybody,-  who  have  lived 
with  the  great  world — the  world  of  lawyers,  the  world  of  artists,  the 
world  of  the  university — have  already  had  an  experience  which  few 
gentlemen  of  the  press  Can  boast  of,  and  may  turn  that  experience  to 
profit.  Suppose  you  were  to  trust  a  little  to  your  imagination  in  com- 
posing these  letters  ?  There  can  be  no  harm  in  being  poetical.  Sup- 
pose an  intelligent  correspondent  writes  that  he  has  met  the  D-ke  of 
W-11-ngt-n,  had  a  private  interview  with  the  Pr-rn-r,  and  so  forth,  who 
is  to  say  him  nay?  And  this  is  the  kind  of- talk  our  gobemouehea  of 
New  York  delight  in.  My  worthy  friend-  Dr.  Geraldine,  for  example — 
between  ourselves,  his  name  is  Finnigan,  but  his  private  history  is 
strictly  entre  nous — when  he  first  came  to  New  York  astonished  the 
people  by  the  copiousness  of  his  anecdotes  regarding  the  English 
aristocracy,  of  whom  he  knows  as  much  as  he  does  of  the  Court  of 
Pekin.     He  was  smart,  ready,  sarcastic,  amusing :  he  found  readers: 


386  ,  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

» 
from  one  success  he  advanced  to  another,  and  the  Gazette  of  the  Upper 
Ten  Thousand  is  likely  to  make  this  worthy  man's  fortune.  You  really 
may  be  serviceable  to  him,  and  may  justly  earn,  the  liberal  remunera- 
tion which  he  offers  for  a  weekly  letter.  Anecdotes  of  men  and  women 
of  fashion — the  more  gay  and  lively  the  more  welcome — the  qtricqnid 
agunt  homines,  in  a  word — should  be  the  farrago  libelli.  Who  are  the 
reigning  beauties  of  London?  and  Beauty,  you  know,  has  a  rank  and 
fashion  A  its  own.  Has  any  one  lately  won  or  lost  on  the  turf  or  at 
play?  What  are  the  clubs  talking  about?  Are  there  any  duels? 
What  is  the  last  scandal  ?  Does  the  good  old  duke  keep  his  health  ? 
Is  that  affair  over  between  the  Duchess  of  This  and  Captain  That? 

"Such  is  the  information  which  our  badauds  here  like  to  have,  and 

for  which  my  friend  the  doctor  will  pay  at  the  rate  of dollars  per   . 

letter.  Your  name  need  not  appear  at  all.  The  remuneration  is 
certain.  O'eat  a  prendre  on  a  laisser,  as  our  lively  neighbors  say. 
Write  in  the  first  place  in  confidence  to  me:  and  in  whom  can  you 
confide  more  safely  than  in  your  father? 

"  You  will,  of  course,  pay  your  respects  to  your  relative,  the  new 
Lord  of  Ringwood.  For  a  young  man  whose  family  is  so  powerful  as 
yours,  there  con  surely  be  no  derogation  in  entertaining  some  feudal 
respect,  and  who  knows  whether  and  how  soon  Sir  John  Ringwood 
may  be  able  to  help  his  cousin  ?  By  the  way,  Sir  John  is  a  Whig,  and 
your  paper  is  a  Conservative.  But  you  are,  above  all,  homme  du  monde. 
In  such  a  subordinate  place  as  you  occupy  with  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 
a  man's  private  politics  do  not  surely  count  at  all.  If  Sir  John  Ring-* 
wood,  your  kinsman,  sees  any  waj'  of  helping  you,  so  much  the  better, 
and,  of  course,  your  politics  will  be  those  of  your  family.  I  have  no 
knowledge  of  him.  He  was  a  very  quiet  man  at  college,  where,  I 
regret  to  say,  your  father's  friends  were  not  of  the  quiet  sort  at  all.  1 
trust  I  have  repented.  I  have  sown  my  wild  oats.  And  ah  !  how 
pleased  I  shall  be  to  hear  that  my  Philip  has  b*ent  his  proud  head  a 
little,  and  is  ready  to  submit  more  than  he  used  of  old  to  the  customs 
of  the  world.  Call  upon  .Sir  John,  then.  As  a  Whig  gentleman  of 
large  estate,  I  need  not  tell  you  that  he  will  expect  respect  from  you. 
He  is  your  kinsman  ;  the  representative  of  your  grandfather's  gallant 
and  noble  race.  He  bears  the  name  your  mother  bore.  To  her  my 
Philip  was  always  gentle,  and  for  her  sake  you  will  comply  with  the 
wishes  of  .  . 

"  Your  affectionate  father,  G.  B.  F, 

"I  have  not  said  a  word  of  compliment  to  Mademoiselle.  I  wish  her 
so  well  that  I  own  I  wish  she  were  about  to  rharry  a  richer  suitor  than 
my  dear  son.  Will  fortune  ever  permit  me  to  embrace  my  daughter-in- 
law,  and  take  your  children  on  my  knee?  You  will  speak  kindly  to 
them  of  their  grandfather,  will  you  not?  Poor  General  Baynes,  I 
have  heard,  used  violent  and  unseemly  language  regarding  me,  which 
I  most  heartily  pardon.  I  am  grateful  when  I  think  that  I  never  did 
General  U.  an  injury  ;  grateful  and  proud  to  accept  benefits  from  my 
own  son.  These  I  treasure  up  in  my  heart;  and  still  hope  I  shall  be 
able  to  repay  with  something  more  substantial  than  my  fondest 
prayers.  Give  my  best  wishes,  then,  to  Miss  Charlotte,  and  try  and 
teach  her  to  think  kindly  of  her  Philip's  facher." 

Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  who.  kept  the  name  of  Miss  Grigsby, 
the  governess,  among  all  the  roguish  children  of  a  facetious  fa- 


ON   HIS   WAY    THROUGH    THF    WORLl>.  38  7 

ther,  was  with  us  one  month,  and  her  mamma  expressed  great 
cheerfulness  at  her  absence,  and  at  the  thought  that  she  had 
found  such  good  friends.  After  two  months,  her  uncle,  Majpr 
MacWhirter,  returned  from  visiting;  his  relations  in  the  North, 
and  offered  to  take  his  niece  back  to  France  again.  He  made 
his  proposition  with  the  jolliest  air  in  the  world,  and  as  if  his 
niece  would  jump  for  joy  to  go  hack  to  her  mother.  But,  to  the 
major's  astonishment,  Miss  Baynes  turned  quite  pale,  ran  to  her 
hostess,  Hung  herself  into  that  lady's  arms,  and  then  there  began 
an  oscillatory  performance  which  perfectly  astonished  the.  good 
major.  Charlotte's  friend,  holding  Miss  Baynes  tight  in  her  em- 
brace, looked  fiercely  at  the  major  over  the  girl's  shoulder,  and 
defied  him  to  take  her  away  from  that  sanctuary. 

"  Oh,  you  dear,  good  dear  friend  1"  Charlotte  gurgled  out,  and 
sobbed  I  know  not  what  more  expressions  of  fondness  and  grati- 
tude. , 

But  the.  truth  is,  that  two  sisters,  or  mother  and  daughter, 
could  not  love  each  other  more  heartily  than  these  two  person- 
ages. Mother  and  daughter  forsooth  !  You  should  have  seen 
Charlotte's  piteous  look  when  sometimes  the  conviction  would 
come  on  her  that  she  ought  at  length  to  go  home  to  mamma; 
such  a  look  as  I  can  fancy  Clytemnestra  casting  on  Agamemnon, 
when,  in  obedience  to  a  painful  sense  of  duty,  he  was  about  to — 
to  use  the  sacrificial  knife.  No,  we  all  loved  her.  The  children 
would  howl  at  the  idea  of  parting  with  their  Miss  Grigsby. 
Charlotte,  in  return,  helped  them  to  very  pretty  lessons  in  music 
and  French — served  hot,  as  it  were,  from  her  own  recent  studies 
at  Tours — and  a  good  daily  governess  operated  on  the  rest  of  their 
education  to  everybody's  satisfaction. 

And  so  months  rolled  on,  and  our  young  favorite  still  remained 
with  us.  Mamma  fed  the  little  maid's  purse  with  occasional 
remittances;  and  begged  her  hostess  to  supply  her  with  all  nec- 
essary articles  from  the  milliner.  Afterward,  it  is  true,  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral Baynes But  why  enter  upon  these  painful  family 

disputes  in  a  chapter  which  has  been  devoted  to  sentiment  ? 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Firmin  received  the  letter  above  faithfully 
copied  (with  the  exception  of  the  pecuniary  offer,  which  I  do 
not  consider  myself  at  liberty  to  divulge)  he  hurried  down  from 
Thornhaugh  street  to  Westminster.  He  dashed  by  Buttons,  the 
page  :  he  took  no  notice  of  my  wondering  wife  at  the,  drawing- 
room  door;  he  rushed  to  the  second  floor,  bursting  open  the 
school-room  door,  where  Charlotte  was  teaching  our  dear  third 
daughter  to  play  In  my  Cottage  near  a  Wood. 
"  Charlotte  !  Charlotte  I"  he  cried  out. 

"  La,  Philip  !  don't  you  see  Miss  Grigsby  is  giving  us  lessons?" 
said  the  children. 

But  he  would  not  listen  to  those  wags,  and  still  beckoned 
Charlotte  to  him.     That  young  woman  rose  up  and  followed  him 


368  THE    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

out  of  the  door,  as,  indeed,  she  would  have  followed  him  out  of  the 
window ;  and  there  on  the  stairs  they  read  Dr.  Firmin's  letter, 
with  their  heads  quite  close  together,  you  understand. 

"  Two  hundred  a  year  more,"  said  Philip,  his  heart  throbbing 
so  that  he  could  hardly  speak  ;  "  and  youi  fifty — and  two  hun- 
dred the  Gazette — and — " 

"  Oh,  Philip !"  was  all  Charlotte  could  say,  and  then — 
There  was  a  pretty  group  for  the  children  to  see,  and  for  Mr. 
Walker  to  draw ! 


CHAPTER  XXXl'L 

WAYS     AND     MEANS. 

Of  course  any  man  of  the  world  who  is  possessed  of  decent 
prudence  will  perceive  that  the  idea  of  marrying  on  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds  a  year  so  secured  as  was  Mr.  Philip's 
income,  was  preposterous  and  absurd.  In  the  first  place,  you  can't 
live  on  four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  that  is  a  certainty. 
People  do  live  on  less,  I  believe.  But  a  life  without  a  brougham, 
without  a  decent  home,  without  claret  for  dinner,  and  a  footman 
to  wait,  can  hardly  be  called  existence.  Philip's  income  might 
fail  any  day.  He  might  not  please  the  American  paper.  He 
might  quarrel  with  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  And  then  what 
would  remain  to  him?  Only  poor  little  Charlotte's  fifty  pounds 
a  year  !  So  Philip's  most  intimate  male  friend — a  man  of  the 
world,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  experience — argued.  Of  course  I 
was  not  surprised  that  Philip  did  not  choose  to  take  my  advice  ; 
though  I  did  not  expect  he  would  become  so  violently  angry, 
call  names  almost,  and  use  most  rude  expressions,  when,  at  his 
express  desire,  this  advice  was  tendered  to  him.  If  he  did  not 
want  it,  why  did  he  ask  for  it?  The  advice  might  be  unwelcome 
to  him,  but  why  did  he  choose  to  tell  me  at  my  own  table,  over 
my  own  claret,  that  it  was  the  advice  of  a  sneak  and  a  worldling  ? 
My  good  fellow,  that  claret,  though  it  is  a  second-growth,  and  I 
can  afford  no  better,  costs  seventy-two  shillings  a  dozen.  How 
much  is  six  times  three  hundred  and  .sixty-five?  A  bottle  a  day 
is  the  least  you  can  calculate  (the  fellow  would  come  to  my  house 
and  drink  two  bottles  to  himself,  with  the  utmost  nonchalance). 
A  bottle  per  diem  of  that  light  claret — of  that  second-growth 
stuff — costs  one  hundred  and  four  guineas  a  year,  do  you  under- 
stand ?  or,  to  speak  plainer  with  you,  one  hundred  and  nine 
pounds  four  shillings  ! 

"  Well,"  says  Philip,  "  aprhf  We  '11  do  without.  Meantime 
I  will  take  what  I  can  get !"  and  he  tosses  off  about  a  pint  as  he 
speaks  (these  mousseline  glasses  are  not  only  enormous,  but  they 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  36f) 

break  by  dozens).     He  tosses  oft"  a  pint  of  my  Larose,  and  gives 
a  great  roar  of  laughter,  as  if  lie.  had  said  a  good  thing ! 

Philip  Firmin  is  coarse  and  offensive  at  times,  and  Bickerton 
in  holding  this  opinion  is  not  altogether  wrong. 

"  I  '11  drink  claret  when  I  come  to  you,  old  boy,"  he  says,  grin-"* 
ning  ;  "  and  at  home  I  will  have  w.hiskey-and -water." 

"  But  suppose  Charlotte  is  ordered  claret  V" 

"  Well,  she  can  have  it,"  says  this  liberal  lover;  "  a  boltle  will 
last  her  a  week." 

"  DrcTt  you  see,"  I  shriek  out,  "that  even  a  bottle  a  week 
costs  something  like — six  by  fifty-two — eighteen  pounds  a  year?" 
(I  own  it  is  really  only  fifteen  twelve  ;  but  in  the  hurry  of  argu- 
ment a  man  may  stretch  a  figure  or  so  )  "  Eighteen  pounds  for 
Charlotte's  claret;  as  much,  at  least,  you  great  boozy  toper,  for 
your  whiskey  and  beer.  Why,  you  actually  want  a  tenth  part  of 
your  income  for  the  liquor  you  consume!  And  then  clothes; 
and  then  lodging  ;  and  then  coals;  and  then  doctor's  bills  ;  and 
then  pocket-money;  and  then  sea-side  for  the  little  dears.  Just 
have  the  kindness  to  add  all  these  things  up,  and  you  will  find 
that  you  have  about  two-and-ninepence  left  to  pay  the  grocer 
and  the  butcher.-" 

"What  you  call  prudence,"  says  Philip,  thumping  the  table, 
and,  of  course,  breaking  a  glass,  "I  call  cowardice — I  call 
blasphemy  !  Do  you  mean,  as  a  Christian  man,  to  tell  me  that 
two  young  people,  and  a  family  if  it  should  please  heaven  to  send 
them  one,  can  not  subsist  upon  five  hundred  pounds  a  year.? 
Look  round,  sir,  at  the  myriads  of  God's  creatures  who  live,  love, 
are  happy  and  poor,  and  be  ashamed  of  the  wicked  doubt  which 
you  utter !"  And  he  starts  up,  and  strides  up  and  down  the 
dining-room,  curling  his  flaming  mustache,  and  rings  the  bell 
fiercely,  and  says,  "Johnson,  I've  broke  a  glass.  Get  me 
another !" 

In  the  drawing-room,  my  wife  asks  what  we  two  were  fighting 
about  ?  And  as  Charlotte  is  up  stairs  telling  the  children  stories 
as  they  are  put  to  bed,  or  writing  to  her  dear  mamma,  or  what 
not,  our  friend  bursts  out  with  more  rude  arid  violent  expressions 
than  he  had  used  in  the  dining-room  over  my  glasses  which  he 
was  smashing,  tells  my  own  wife  that  I  am  an  atheist,  or  at  best 
a  miserable  skeptic  and  Sadducee :  that  I  doubt  of  the  goodness 
of  heaven,  and  am  not  thankful  for  my  dafty  bread.  And,  with 
one  of  her  kindling  looks  directed  toward  the  young  man,  of 
course  my  wife  sides  with  him.  Miss  Char  presently  came  down 
from  the  young  folks,  and  went  to  the  piano,  and  played  us 
Beethoven's  Dream  of  Saint  Jerome,  which  always  soothes  me, 
and  charms  me,  so  that  1  fancy  it  is  a  poem  of  Tennyson  in  music. 
And  our  children,  as  they  sink  off  to  sleep  overhead,  like  to  hear 
soft  music,  which'  soothes  them  into  slumber,'  Miss  Baynes  says. 
And  Miss  Charlotte  looks  very  pretty  at  her  piano;  and  Philip 
82 


870  THE    ADVENTTJKES    OF    PHILIP 

t 

lies  gjrziffg  at  her,  ■with  his  great  feet  and  hands  tumbled  over 
one  of  cur  aim-chairs.  And  the  music,  with  its  solemn  cheer, 
makes  us  all  very  happy  and  kind-hearted,  and  ennobles  us  some- 
how as  we  listen.  And  my  wife  wears  .her  benedictory  look 
whenever  she  turns  toward  these  young  people.  She  has  worked 
herself  up  to  the  opinion  that  yonder  couple  ought  to  marry 
She  can  give  chapter  and  verse  lor  her  belief.  To  doubt  about 
the  matter  at  all  is  wicked,  according  to  her  notions.  And  there 
are  certain  points  upon  which,  1  humbly  own,  that  I  don't  dare  to 
argue  with  her.  £ 

When  the  women  of  the  house  have  settled  a  matter,  is  there 
much  use  in  man's  resistance  ?  If  my  harem  orders  that  I  shall 
wear  a  yellow  coat  and  pink  trousers,  1  know  that,  before  three 
months  are  over,  I  shall  be  walking  about  in  rose-tendre  and 
canary-colored  garments.  It  is  the  perseverance  which  conquers, 
the  daily  return  to  the  object  desired.  Take  my  advice,  my  dear 
sir,  when  you  see  your  womankind  resolute  about  a  matter,  give 
up  at  once,  and  have  a  quiet  life.  Perhaps  to  one  of  these 
evening  entertainments,  where  Miss  Baynes  played  the  piano, 
as  she  did  very  pleasantly,  and  Mr  Philip's  great  clumsy  fist 
turned  the  leaves,  little  Mrs.  Brandon  would  come  tripping  in, 
and  as  she  surveyed  the  young  couple,  her  remark  would  be, 
"  Did  you  ever  see  a  better-suited  couple  ?"  When  I  came 
home  from  chambers,  and  passed  the  dining-room  door,  my  eldest 
daughter,  with  a  knowing  face,  would  bar  the  way  and  say, 
"You  must  n't  go  in  there,  papa!  Miss  Grigsby  is  there,  and 
Master  Philip  is  not  to  be  disturbed  at  his  lessons!"  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford  bad  begun  to  arrange  marriages  between  her  young  people 
and  ours  from  the  very  first  day  she  saw  us;  and  Mrs.. M.'s  eh. 
filly  Toddles,  rising  two  vears,  and  our  three-year  old  colt  Billy- 
boy, were  rehearsing  in  the  nursery  the  endless  little  comedy 
which  the  grown-up  young  persons  ware  performi  ^in  the  draw- 
ng-room. 

With  the  greatest  frankness  Mrs.  Mwgford  gave  her  opinion 
that  Philip,  with  four  or  five  hundred  a  year,  would  be  no  better 
than  a  sneak  if  he  delayed  to  marry.  How  much  had  she  and 
Mugford  when  they  married,  she  would  like  to  know?  'Emily 
street,  Pentonville,  was  where  we  had  apartments,"  she  remarked ; 
''we  were  pinched  sometimes;  but  we  owed  nothing:  and  our 
housekeeping  books  I  can  show  you."  I  believe  Mrs.  M.  actually 
brought  these  dingy  relics  of  her  honeymoon  for  my  wife's 
inspection.  I  tell  you  my  house  was  peopled  with  these  friends 
of  matrimony.  Flies  were  for  ever  in  requisition,  and  Our  boys 
were  very  sulky  at  having  to  sit  for  an  hour  at  Shoolbred's, 
while  certain  ladies  lingered  there  over  blankets,  table-cloths, 
and  what  not.  Once  I  found  my  wife  and  Charlotte  flitting 
about  Wardour  street^  the  former  lady  much  interested  in  a  great 
Dutch  cabinet,  with  a  glass  cupboard  and  corpulent  drawers. 


ON    HIS   WAY    THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  371 

And  that  cabinet  wag,  ere  long,  carted  off  to  Mrs.  Brandon's, 
Thornhaugh  ftreet ;  and  in  that  glass  cupboard  there  was  pres- 
ently to  be  seen  a  neat  set  of  china  for  tea  and  breakfast.  The 
•end  was  approaching.  That  event,  with  which  the  third  volume 
of  the  old  novels  used  to  close,  was  at  hand.  I  am  afraid  our 
young  people  can't  drive  off  from  St.  George's  in  a  chaise-and- 
four,  and  that  no  noble  relative  will  lend  them  his  castle  for  the 
honeymoon.  Well :  some  people  can  not  drive  to  happiness  even 
with  four  horses;  and.  other  folks  can  reach  the  goal  on  foot. 
My  venerable  Muse  stoops  down,  unlooses  her  cothurnus  with 
some  difficulty,  and  prepares  to  fling  that  old  shoe  alter  the  pair. 

Tell,  venerable  Muse!  what  were  the  marriage- gifts  which 
friendship  provfded  for  Philip  and  Charlotte  ?  Philip's  cousin, 
Ringwood  Twysden,  came  simpering  up  to  me  at  Bays'  Club  one 
afternoon,  and  said :  "  I  Bear  my  precious  cousin  is  going  to 
marry.  I  think  I  shall  send- him  a  broom  to  sweep  a  crossin'. ' 
I  was  nearly  going  to  say,  "  This  was  a  piece  of  generosity  to  be 
expected  from  your  father's  son;"  but  the  fact  is,  that  I  did  not. 
think  of  thfs  withering  repartee  until  I  was  crossing  St.  James' 
park  on  my  way  home,  when  Twysden  of  course  was  out  of  ear- 
shot. A  great  number  of  my  best  witticisms  have  been  a  little 
late  in  making  their  appearance  in  the  world.  If  we  could  but 
hear  the  ?mspoken  jokes,  how  we  should  all  laugh  ;  if  we  could 
but  speak  them,  how  witty  we  should  be !  When  you  have  left 
the  room,  you  have  no  notion  what  clever  things  I  was  going  to 
say  when  you  balked  me  by  going  away.  Well,  then,  the  fact 
is,  the  Twysden  family  gave  Philip  nothing  on  his  marriage, 
being  the  exact  sum  of  regard  which  they  professed  to  have  for 
him. 

Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter  gave  the  bride  an  Indian  brooch, 
representing  the  Taj  Mahal  at  A^ra,  which  General  Baynes  had 
given  to  his  sister-in-law  in  old  days.  At  a  later  period,  it  is 
true,  Mrs.  Mac  asked  Charlotte  for  the  brooch  back  again  ;  but 
this  was  when  many  family  quarrels  had  raged  between  the 
relatives — quarrels  which  to  describe  at  length  would  be  to  tax 
too  much  the  writer  and  the  readers  of  this  history. 

Mrs.  Mugford  presented  an  elegant  plated  coffee-pot,  six 
drawing-room  almanacs  (spoils  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette),  and 
fourteen  richly-cut  jelly-glasses,  most  useful  for  negus,  if  the 
young  couple  gave  evening-parties,  which  dinners  they  would  not 
be  able  to  afford. 

Mrs.  Brandon  made  an  offering  of  two  table-cloth?  and  twelve 
dinner-napkins,  most  beautifully  worked,  and  I  don't  know  how 
much  house-linen. 

The  Lady  of  the  Present  Writer — .Twelve  teaspoons  in 
bullion,  and  a  pair  of  sugar-tongs.  Mrs.  Baynes,  Philip's  mother- 
in-law,  sent  him  also  a  pair  of  sugar-tongs,  of  a  light  manufacture, 


372  THE    ADVENTURES    OP   PHILIP 

easily  broken.     He  keep3  a  tong  to  the  present  day,  and  speaks 
very  satirically  regarding  that  relic. 

Philip's  Inn  of  Court — A  bill  for  Commons  and  Inn  taxes, 
with  the  Treasurer's  compliments. 

And  these,  I  think,  formed  the  items  of  poor  little  Charlotte's 
meagre  trousseau.  Before  Cinderella  went  to  the  ball  she  was 
almost  as  rich  as  qui*  little  maid.  Charlotte's  mother  sent  a  grim 
consent  to  the  child's  marriage,  but  declined  herself  to  attend  it. 
She  was  ailing  and  poor.  Her  year's  widowhood  was  just  over. 
She  had  her  other  children  to  look  after.  l\^y  impression  is  that 
Mrs.  Baynes  thought  that  she  could  be  out  of  Philip's  power  so 
long  as  she  remained  abroad,  and  that  the  general's  savings  would' 
be  secure  from  him.  So  she  delegated  her  authority  to  Philip's 
friends  in  London,  and  sent  her  daughter  a  moderate  wish  for 
her  happiness,  which  may  or  may  not  have  profited  the  young 
people. 

"  Well,  my  dear  !  You  are  rich  compared  to  what  I  was  when 
I  married,"  little  Mrs.  Brandon  said  to  her  young  friend. 
"  You  will  have  a  good  husband.  That  is  more  than  I  had.  You 
will  have  good  friends ;  and  1  was  almost  alone  for  a  time,  until 
it  pleased  God  to  befriend  me.'''  It  was  not  without  a  feeling  of 
awe  that  we  saw  these  young  people  commence  that  voyage  of 
life  on  which  henceforth  they  were  to  journey  together ;  and  I 
am  sure  that  of  the  small  company  who  accompanied  them  to  the 
silent  little  chapel  where  they  were  joined  in  marriage  there  was 
not  one  who  did  not  follow  them  with  tender  good-wishes  and 
heart-felt  prayers.  They  had  a  little  purse  provided  for  a 
month's  holiday.  They  had  health,  hope,  good  spirits,  good 
friends.  I  have  never  learned  that  life's  trials  were  over  after 
marriage  ;  only  lucky  is  he  who  has  a  loving  companion  to  share 
them.  As  for  the  lady  with  wiom  Charlotte  had  staid  before 
her  marriage,  she  was  in  a  state  of  the  most  lachrymose  sentimen- 
tality. She  sate  on  the  bed  in  the  chamber  which  the  little 
maid  had  vacated.  Her  tears  flowed  copiously.  She  knew  not 
why  ;  she  could  not  tell  how  the  girl  had  wound  herself  around 
her  maternal  heart.  And  I- think  if  heaven  had  decreed  this 
young  creature  should  be  poor,  it  had  sent  her  many  blessings 
and  treasures  in  compensation. 

Every  respectable  man  and  woman  in  London  will,  of  course, 
pity  these  young  people,  and  reprobate  the  mad  risk  which  they 
were  running ;  and  yet — by  the  influence  and  example  of  a  sen- 
timental wife,  probably — so  madly  sentimental  have  I  become, 
that  I  own  sometimes  I  almost  fancy  these  misguided  wretches 
are  to  be  envied. 

A  melancholy  little  chapel  it  is  where  they  were  married,  and 
stands  hard  by  our  house.  We  did  not  decorate  the  church  with 
flowers,  or  adorn  the  beadles  with  white  ribbons.     We  had,  I 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  378 

must  confess,  a  dreary  little  breakfast,  not  in  the  least  enlivened 
by  Mugford 's  jokes,  who  would  make  a  speech  de  circonslance, 
which  was  not,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  reported  in  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette.  "  We  shan't  charge  you  for  advertising  the  marriage 
there,  my  dear,"  Mrs. 'Mugford  said.     "And  I  've  already  took  it 

.myself  to  Mr.  Burjoyce."  Mrs  Mugford  had  insisted  upon  pin- 
ning a  large  white  favor  upon  John,  who  drove  her  from  Harnp- 
stead  ;  but  that  was  the  only  ornament  present  at  the  nuptial 
ceremony,  much  to  the  disappointment  of  t"he  good  lady.  There 
was  a  very  pretty  cake,  with  two  doves  in  sugar  on  the  top,  which 
the  Little  Sister  made  and  sent,  and  no  other  by  menial  emblem. 
Our  little  girls  as  bridesmaids  appeared,  to  be  sure,  in  new  bon- 
nets and  dresses,  but  everybody  else  looked  so  quiet  and  demure 
that,  when  we  went  into  the  church,  three  or  four  street  urchins 
knocking  about  the  gate  said,  "  Look  at  'em.  They  're  going  to 
be  'ung."  And  so  the  words  are  spoken,  and  the  indissoluble 
knot  is  tied.  Amen.  For  better,  for  worse,  for  good  days  or 
evil,  love  each  other,  cling  to  each  other,  dear  friends.  Fulfil 
your  course,  and  accomplish  your  life's  toil.  In  sorrow,  soothe  each 
other ;  in  illness,  watch  and  tend."  Cheer,  fond  wife,  the  husbaad's.. 

•struggle;  lighten  his  gloomy  hours  with  your  tender  smiles,  and 
gladden  his  home  with  your  love.  Husband,  father,  whatsoever 
your  lot,  be  your  heart  pure,  your  life  honest.  For  the  sake  of 
those. who  bear  your  name,  let  no  bad  action  sully  it.  As  you 
look  at  those  innocent  faces,  which  ever  tenderly  greet  you,  be 
yours,  too,  innocent,  and  your  conscience  without  reproach.  As 
the  young  people  kneel  before  the  altar-railing,  some  such 
thoughts  as  these  pass  through  a  friend's  mind  who  witnesses  the 
ceremony  of  their  marriage.  Is  not  all  we  hear  in  that  place 
meant  to  apply  to  ourselves,  and  to  be  carried  away  forevery-day 
cogitation  t 

After  the  ceremony  Ave  sign  the  book,  and  walk  back  demure- 
ly to  breakfast.  And  Mrs.  Mugford  does  not  conceal  her  disap- 
pointment at  the  small  preparations  made  for  the  reception  of 
the  marriage  party.  "  I  call  it  shabby,  Brandon ;  and  1  speak 
my  mind.  No  favors.  Only  your  cake.  No  speeches  to  speak 
of.  No  lobster-salad ;  and  wine  on  the  sideboard.  I  thought 
your  Queen  square  friends  knew  how  to  do  the  thing  better ! 
When  one  of  my  gurls  is  married,  I  promise  you  we  shan't  let 

-  her  go  out  of  the  back-door  ;  and  at  least  we  shall  have  the 
best  four  grays  that  Newman's  can  furnish.  It 's  ray  belief  your 
young  friend  is  getting  too  fond  of  money,  Brandon,  and  so  I 
have  told  Mugford."  But  these,  you  see,'  were  only  questions 
of  taste.  •  Good  Mrs,  Mugford's  led  her  to  a  green  satin  dress. 
and  a  pink  turban,  when  other  ladies  were  in  gray  or  quiet 

^colors.  The  intimacy  between  our  two  families  dwindled  imme- 
diately after  Philip's  marriage  ;  Mrs.  M.,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  set- 


374  THE    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

ting  ns  down  as  shabby-genteel  people,  and  she  could  n't  bear 
screwing — never  could! 

Well :  the  speeches  were  spoken.  The  bride  was  kissed,  and 
departed  with  her  bridegroom  :  they  had  not  even  a  valet  and 
lady's-maid  to  bear  them  company.  The  route  of  the  happy 
pair  was  to  be  .Canterbury,  Folkestone,  Boulogne,  Amiens, 
Paris,  and  Italy  perhaps,  if  their  little  stock  of  pocket-money 
would  serve  them  so  far.  But  the  very  instant  when  half  was 
spent,  it  was  agreed  that  these  young  people  should  turn  their 
faces  homeward  again;  and  meanwhile  the  printer  and  Mugford 
himself  agreed  that  they  would  do  Mr.  Sub-editor's  duty.  How 
much  had  they  in  the  little  parse  for  their  pleasure-journey  ? 
That  is  no  business  of  ours,  surely;  but  with  youth,  health, 
happiness,  love,  among  their  possessions,  I  don't  think  our  young 
friends  had  need  to  be  discontented.  Away,  then,  they  drive  in 
their  cab  to  the  railway  station.  Farewell,  and  heaven  bless 
you,  Charlotte  and  Philip  !  I  have  said  4iow  I  found  my  wife 
crying  in  her  favorite's  vacant  bedroom.  The  marriage-table 
did  coldly  furnish  forth  a  funeral  kind  of  dinner.  The  cold 
chicken  choked  us  all,  and  the  jelly  was  but  a  sickly  compound, 
to  my  taste,  though  it  was  the  Little  Sister's  most  artful  manu-» 
facture.  I  own  for  one  T  was  quite  miserable.  I  found  no 
comfort  at  clubs,  nor  could  the  last  new  novel  fix  my  attention. 
I  saw  Philip's  eyes,  and  heard  the  warble  of  Charlotte's  sweet 
voice.  I  walked  oft  from  Bays'  and  through  Old  Parr  street, 
where  Philip  had  lived,  and  his  parents  entertained  me  as  a 
boy ;  and  then  tramped  to  Thornhaugh  street,  rather  ashamed 
of  myself.  The  maid  said  mistress  was  in  Mr.  Philip's  rooms, 
the  two  pair — and  what  was  that  I  heard  on  the  piano  as  I 
entered  the  apartment  ?  Mrs.  Brandon  sat  there  hemming 
some  chintz  window-curtains,  or  bed-curtains,  or  what  not ;  by 
her  side  sate  my  own  eldest  girl  stitching  away  very  resolutely  ; 
and  at  the  piano — the  piano  which  Philip  had  bought — there 
sate  my  own  wife  picking  out  that  Dream  of  Saint  Jerome  of 
Beethoven,  which  Charlotte  used  to  play  so  delicately.  We 
had  tea  out  of  Philip's  tea-things,  and  a  nice  hot  cake,  which 
consoled  some  of  us.  But  I  have  known  few  evenings  more 
melancholy  than  that.  It  feels  like  the  first  night  at  school  after 
the  holidays,  when  we  all  used  to  try  and  appear  cheerful,  you 
know.  But  ah!  how  dismal  the  gayety  was;  and  how  dreary 
that  lying  awake  in  the  night,  and  thinking  of  the  happy  days 
just  over ! 

The  way  in  which  we  looked  forward  for  letters  from  our 
bride  and  bridegroom  was  quite  a  curiosity  At  length  a  letter 
arrived  from  these  personages;  and  as  it  co'ntains  no  secret,  I 
take  the  liberty  to  print  it  in  exlenso:  * 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THK    WORLD.  3  75 

"Amtrxs,  Friday.     Paris,  Saturday. 

"Dkarest  Friends — (For  the  dearest  .friends  yon  an  to  us,  and 
will  'continue  bo  bj  as  long  as  tor,  line) — Wo  performs  oar  promise  of 
wririug  to  you  to  say  that  we  are  loetlf  aad  sa/e,  and  happy  !  Philip 
says  I  must  n't  use  dashes*  but  I  can't  help  it.  Ho  says  lr>  supposes  I 
am  (It-thing  off  a  letter.  Yoii  kno.v  his  joking  way.  Oh,  what  a  bloat- 
ing it  is  to  see  him  so  happy  !  And  if  he  is  happy,  I  am.  I  tremble 
to  think  hoiv  happy.  Ho  aits  opposite  me,  smoking  his  se,.jar,  looking 
so  noble!  I  like  it,  and  X  went  to  our  room  and  brought  hir.i  thin  on*. 
Hs  says,  '  Char,  if  I  were  to  say  bring  me  your  heal,  you  would  order 
a  waiter  to  out  it  off.'  Pray,  did  I  not  promise  three  days  ago  to  love, 
honor,  and  obey  him.  and  am  I  going  to  break  my  promise  already  r 
I  hope  not.  I  pray  not.  All  my  life  L  hopo  I  shall  bo  trying  to  keep 
that  promiso  of  mine.  We  like .1  Canterbury  almost  as  m  ich  a3  dear 
Westminster.  We  hail  an  open  carriage,  and  took  a  glorious  drive  to 
Folkestone,  and  in  the  erossing  Philip  was  ill.  and  I  was  u't.  "And  ho 
looked  very  droll:  and  he  was  in  a  dreadful  b"a*d  humor;  and  that  was 
my  first  appearance  as  nurse.  I  think  I  should  like  him  to  be  a  little 
ill  sometimes,  so  that  I  may  sit  up  and  take  care  of  him.  We  wont 
through  the  cords  at  the  custoaf-house  at  Boulogne;  and  I  remembered 
how,  two  years  ago,  I  passed  through  those  very  cords,  with  my  poor 
papa,  and  lie  stood  outside,  and  saw  us  !  We  went  to  the  Hotel  des 
Bains.  We  walked  about  the  town.  We  went  to  the  Tintelleries. 
where  we  used  to  live,  and  to  your  flouso  in  the  Haute  Ville,  whero  I 
remember  everything  an  it'  it  mas  yesterday.  Don't  you  remember,  M 
we  were  walking  one  day,  you  said*  '  Charlotte,  there  is  the  sieamor 
coming  ;  there  is  the  smoke  of  his  funnel  ;'  and  I  said,  '  What  steam 
er  V  and  j'ou  said,  '  The  Philip,  to'  be  sure.'  And  he  came  up,  smoking 
his  pipe !  We  passed  over  and  over  the  old  grouad  where  we  used  to 
walk.  We  went  to  the  pier,  and  gave  money  to'the  poor  little  hunch 
back  who  plays  the  guitar,  aud  he  said,  '  Merci,  madam  •.'  How  d%dl 
it  sounded  !  And  that  good,  kind  Marie  at  the  Hotel  des  Bains  re- 
membered us,  and  called  us  'men  enfant.'  And  if  you  were  not  the 
most  good-natured  woman  in  the  world,  I  think  I  should  be  ashamed  to 
write  such  nonsense. 

"  Think  of  Mrs.  Brandon  having  knitted  mo  a  purse,  which  she  gave 
me  as  we  went  away  from  dear,  dear  Queen  square;  and  when  I  open- 
ed it,  there  were  five  sovereigns  in  it!  When  we  found  what  tho  purse 
contained,  Philip  used  one  of  his  great jnrons  (as  he  always  does  when 
he  is  most  tender-hearted),  and  he'said  that  woman  was  an  angel,  and 
that  we  would  keep  those  five  sovereigns,  and  never  change  them.  Ah  ! 
I  am  thankful  my  husband  has  such  friejadsl  I  will  love  all  who  love 
him — yoq  most  of  all.  For  were  not  you  the  means  of  bringing  this 
noble  heart  to  me?  I  fancy  I  have  known , bigger  people  since  I'  have 
known  you,  and  some  of  your  friends.  Their  talk  is  simpler,  their 
thoughts  are  greater  than — those  with  whom  I  used  to  live.  P.  says 
heaven*  has  given  Mrs.  Brandon  such  a  great  heart  that  she  must 
have  a  good  intellect.  If  loving  my  Philip  bo  wisdom,  I  know  some 
one  who  will  be  very  wise  ! 

k<  If  I  was  not  in  a  very  great  harry  to  see  mamma,  Philip  said  wo 
niighjfestop  a  day  at  Amiens.  And  we  went  to'the  cathedral,  and  to 
whom,  do  you  think,  it  is  dedicated?  to  my  saint:  to  S.VINi'  Fikui*  ! 
and  oh  !  Iprayed  to  heaven  to  give  me  si  reugth  todevote  my  life  :<>  toy 
Sainton  xrrrirc,  to  love  him  always,  as  a  pure,  true  wife  :  i:i  sickness  to 
guard  him,  in  sorrow  to  soothe  him.  I  will  try  und  learn  and  */</<A/,  not 
to  mako  my  intellect  equal  to  his — ver}'  few  womeu  can  hope  for  that — 


370  THE    ADVENTUltES    OF    PHILIP 

but  that  I  may  better  comprehend  him,  and  give  him  a  companion  more. 
■worthy  of  him.  I  wonder  whether  there  are  many  men  in  the  world  as 
clever  as  our  husbands?  Though  Philip  is  bo  modest.  He  says  he  is 
not  clever  at  all.  Yet  I  know  he  is,  and  grander,  somehow,  than  other 
men.  I  said  nothing,  but  I  used  to  listen  at  Queen  square;  and  some 
who  came  who  thought  best  of  themselves,  seemed  to  me  pert,  and 
worldly,  and  small ;  and  some  were  like  princes  somehow.  My  Philip 
is  one  of  the  princes.  Ah,  dear  friend  !  may  I  not  give  thanks  where 
thanks  are  due,  that  I  am  chosen  to  be  the  wife  of  a  true  gentleman? 
Kind,  and  brave,  and  loyal  Philip  !  Honest  and  generous — above  de- 
ceit or  selfish  scheme.     Oh  !  I  hope  it  is  not  wrong  to  be  so  happy  ! 

"We  wrote  to  mamma  and  dear  Madame  Smolensk  to  say  we  were 
coming.  Mamma  finds  Madame  de  Valentinois'  boarding-house  even 
dearer  than  dear  Madame  Smolensk's.  I  don't  mean  a  pun  !  She  says 
she  has  found  out  that  Madame  de  Valentinois'  real  name  is  Cornichon  ; 
that  she  was  a  person  of  the  worst  character,  and  that  cheating  at  (carte 
was  practiced  at  her  house.  She  took  up  her  own  two  francs  and 
another  two-franc  piece  from  the  card-table,  saying  that  Colonel  Bou- 
lotte  was  cheating,  and  by  rights  the  umney  was  hers.  She  is  going  to 
leave  Madame  de  Valentinois  -at  the  end  of  her  month,  or  as  soon  as 
our  childrcr%who  have  the  measles,  can  move.  Shedesired  that  on  no 
account  I  would  come  to  see  her  at  Madame  V.'s  ;  and  she  brought 
Philip  £12  10s.  in  five-franc  pieces,_  which  she  laid  down  on  the  table 
before  him,  and  said  it  "was  my  frrst  quarter's  payment.  It  is  not  due 
yet,  I  know.  s  '  But  do  you  think  I  will  be  beholden,'  says  she,  v  to  a 
man  like  you  !'  And  P.  shrugged  Ids  shoulders^and  put  the  rouleau  of 
silver  pieces  into  a  drawer.  He  did  not  say  a  word,  but,  of  course,  I 
saw  he  was  ill-pleased.  '  What  shall  we  do  with  your  fortune.  Char?' 
he  said,  when  mamma  went  away.  And  a  part  we  spent  at  the  opera 
and  at  Vory's  restaurant,  where  we  took  our  "dear  kind  Madame  Bino- 
lcts'k.  Ah,  how  good  that  woman  was  to-me!  Ah,  how  I  suffered  in 
that  house  when  mamma  wanted  to  part  me  from  Philip.!  We  walked 
by  and  saw  the  windows  of  the  room  where  that  horrible,  horrible 
tragedy  was  performed,  and  Philip  shook  his  fist  at  the  green  jalousies. 
'  Good  heavens  !'  he  said,  '  how  my  darling,  how  I,  was  made  to  suffer 
there  !'  I  bear  no  malice.  I  will  do  no  injury.  But  I  never  can  for- 
give :  never  !  I  can  forgive  iriarnma,  who  made  my  husband  so  unhap- 
py :*but  can  I  love  her  again  ?  Indeed  and  indeed  I  have  tried.  Often 
;;nd  often  in  my  dreams  that  horrid  tragedy  is  acted  over  again  ;  and 
they  are  taking  him  from  me,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  should  die.  Wlven  I  was 
with  you  I  used  of.ten  to  be  afraid  to  go  to  sleep  for  fear  of  that  dread- 
ful dream,  and  I  kept  one  of  his  letters  under  my  pillow  so  that  I  might 
hold  it  in  the  night..  And  now  !  No  one  can  part  us  ! — oh,  no  one ! — 
until  the  end  comes  ! 

-"  He  took  me  about  to  all  his  old  bachelor  haunts ;  to  the  Hotel  Poussin, 
where  he  used  to  live,  which  is  Very  dingy  but  comfortable.  And  he 
introduced  me'  to  the  landlady  in  a  Madras  handkerchief,  and  to  the 
landlord  (with  car-rings  and  with  no  coa.t  on),  and  to  the  little  boy  who 
froii.es  the  floors.  And  he  said,  '  Titus'*  and  ^mer/si,  Madame!''  as  we 
gave  him  a  five-franc  piece  out  of  my  fortune.  And  then  we  went  to  the 
cafe-  opposite  the  Bourse,  where  Philip  used  to  write  his  letter^;  and 
then  we  went  to  the  Palais  Royal,  where  Madame  de  Smolensk  was  in 
Waiting  for  us.  And  then  we  went  to  the  play.  And  then  we  went  to  _ 
Tortoui's  to  take  ices.  And  then  we  walked  a  part  of  the  way  home 
with  Madame  Smolensk  under  a  hundred  million  blazing  stars;  and 
then  we  walked  down  the  Chaxups  Elysecs'  avenues,  by  which  Philip 


ON    JJIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  37  7 

used  to  come  to  me,  and  beside  the  plashing  fountains  shining-  under 
the  silver  inoon.  And,  oh,  Laura  !  I  wonder  under  the  silver  moon  was 
anybody  so  happy  as  .your  loving  and  grate£itl  C.  F.  ?" 

"P.  S."  [In  the  handwriting  of  Philip  Finnin,  Esq.] — "My  DEAR 
Friends  :  I  'in  sir  jolly  that  it  seems  like  D  dream.  I  havo  been  watch- 
ing Charlotte  scribble,  scribble  for  an  hour  past  :  and  wondered  and 
thought  is  it  actually  true?  and  gone  and  convinced  myself  of  the  truth 
by  looking  at  the  paper  and  the  cUnhea  which  .she  will  put  under  the 
words.  My  dear  friends,  what  have  I  done  in  life  that  I  am  to  bo  made 
a  present  of  a  little  angel  ?  (inec  there  was  SO  much  wrong  in  me,  and 
my  heart  was  so  black  and  revengeful,  that  I  knew  not  what  might 
happen  to  me.  She  came  and  rescued  me.  The  love  of  this  creature 
purifies  me — and — and  1  think  that  is  all.  I  think  I  only  want  to  say 
that  1  am  the  bappiesl  man  in  Europe-.  That  St.  Finnin  at  Amiens  ! 
Fid  n't  it  seem  ljke  a  good  omen  ?  IJy  St.  George  !  I  never  heard-  of  St. 
F.  until  I  lighted  on  him  in  "the  cathedral.  When  shall  we  write  next? 
Where  shall  we  tell  you  to  direct  ?  We  don't  know  where  we  are  going. 
We  don't  want  letters.  But  we  are  not  the  less  grateful  to  dear,  kind 
friends  :  and  our  names  are  P.  and  C.  F." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

DESCRIBES  A  SITUATION  INTERESTING  BUT  NOT  UNEXPECTED. 

•  Only  very  wilful  and  silly  children  Cry  after  the  moon.  Sen- 
sible people,  who  have  shed  their  sweet  tooth,  can't  be  expected 
to  be  very  much  interested  .about  honey.  We  may  hope  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Philip  Firmin  enjoyed  a  pleasant  wedding  tour  and 
that  sort  of  thing :  but  as  for  chronicling  its  delights  or  advent- 
•res,  Miss  Scrwerby  and  I  vote  that  the  task  is  altogether  need- 
less and  immoral.  Young  people  are  already  much  too  senti- 
mental, and  inclined  to  idle,  maudlin  reading.  Life  is  earnest, 
Miss  Sowerby  remarks  (with  a  strong  inclination  to  spell  "ear- 
nest" with  a  large  E).  Life  is  labor.  Life  is  duty.  Life  is  rent. 
Life  is  taxes.  Life  brings  its  ills,  bills,  doctor's  pills.  Life  is  not 
a  mere  calendar  of  honey  and  moonshine.  Very  good.  But 
without  love,  Miss  Sowerby,  life  is  just  death,  and  I  know,  my 
dear,  you  would  no  more,  care  to  go  on  with  it  than  with  a  new 

chapter  of- — of  our  dear  friend 's*  new  story. 

Between  ourselves,  Philip's  humor  is  not  much  more  lightsome 
than  that  of  the  ingenious  contemporary  above  named  ;  but  if  it 
served  to  amuse  Philip  himself,  why  balk  him  of  a  little  sport? 
Well,  then  :  lie  wrote  us  a  great  ream  of  lumbering  pleasantries, 
dated  Paris,  Thursday.  Geneva,  Saturday.  Summit  of  Mont- 
Blanc,  Mondav.     TimbuctOO,  "Wednesday.     Pekin,  Friday — with 

: , . *_. , 

e  author  of  "  Philip"  is  absent  from  town,  and  the  name  of  Ids 
dear  Ir'und  and  ingenious  contemporary  is  (Tolls  illegible  in  the  M.S. — 
Printer. 


378  THE    AiD VENTURES    OF    PHTLIJ> 

facetious  descriptions  of  those  spots  and  cities.  He  «aid  that  in 
the  last-named  place,  Charlotte's  shoes  being  worn-out,  those 
which  she  purchased  were  rather  flight  for  her,  and  the  high  heels 
annoyed- her.  He  stated  that  the  beef  at  Timbuetoo  was  not 
cooked  enough  for  Charlotte's  taste,  and  that  the  emperor's  atten- 
tions were  becoming  rather  marked,  and  so  forth ;  wherea:s  poor 
little  Char's  simple  postscripts  mentioned  no  travelling  at  all,  but 
averred  that  they  were  staying  at  Saint-Germain,  and  as  happy 
as  the  day  was  long.  As  happy  as  the  day  was  long?  As  it 
was  short,  alas  !  Their  little  purse  was  very  slenderly  furnished; 
and  in  a  very,  very  brief  holiday  poor  Philip's  few  Napoleons 
ha'd  almost  all  rolled  away.  Luckily,  it  was  pay-day  ^hen  the 
young  people  came  back  to  London.  They  were  almost  reduced 
to  the  Little  Sister's  wedding  present :  and  surely  they  would 
rather  work  than  purchase  a  few  hours'  more  ease  with  that  poor 
widow's  mite. 

Who  talked  and  was  afraid  of  poverty?  Philip,  with  his  two 
newspapers,  averred  that  he  had  enough ;  more  tlmn  enough ; 
could  save;  could  put  by.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Ridley,  th^ 
Academician,  painted  that  sweet  picture,  No.  1,970 — of  course 
you  remember  it — "Portrait  of  a  Lady."  He  became  romanti- 
cally attached  to  the  second-floor  lodger ;  would  have  no  noisy 
parties  in  his  rooms,  or -smoking,  lest  it  should  annoy  her.  Would 
Mrs.  Firmin  desire  to  give  entertainments  of  her  own  ?  HU 
studio  and  sitting-room  were  at  her  orders.  He  fetched  and 
carried.  He  brought  presents  and  theatre-boxes,  and  would 
have  cut  off  his  head  had  she  demanded,  and  laid  it  at  the  little 
bride's  feet,  so  tenderly  did  he  regard  her.  And  she  gave  him 
back  in  return  for  all  this  romantic  adoration  a  condescending 
shake  of  a  soft  little  hand,  and  a  kind  look  from  a  pair  of  soft 
eyes,  with  which  the  painter  was  fain  to  be  content.  Low  of 
stature  and  of  misshapen  form,  J.  J.  thought  himself  naturally 
outcast  from  marriage  and  love,  and  looked  in  with  longing  eyes 
at  the  paradise  which  he  was  forbidden  to  enter.  And  Mr. 
Philip  sit  within  this  Palace  of  Delight,  and  lolled  at  his  ease, 
and  took  his  pleasure,  and  Charlotte  ministered  to  him.  And 
once  in  a  way  my  lord  sent  out  a  crumb  of  kindness,  or  a  little 
cup  of  comfort,  to  the  outcast  at  the  gate,  who  blessed  his  bene- 
factress, and  my  lord  his  benefactor,  and  was  thankful. 
Charlotte  had  not  two-pence  ;  but  she  had"a  little  court.  It  was 
the  fashion  for  Philip's  friends  to  come  and  bow  before  her. 
Very  fine  gentlemen  who  had  known  him  at  college,  and  forgot 
him,  or,  sooth  to  say,  thought  him^rough  and  overbearing;  now 
suddenly  remembered  him,  and  his  young  wife  had  quite  fashion- 
able assemblies  at  her  five  oidoek  tea-table.  Ail  men  liked  her, 
and  Miss  Sowerby  of  course  says  Mrs.  Firmin  was  a  good-natured, 
quite  harmless  little  woman,  rather  pretty,  and — you  know,  my 
dear — such  as  men  like.     Look  you,  if  I  like  cold  veal,  dear 


ON   HI8    WAY   THROUGH    THK    WORLD.  3  79 

Sowerby,  it  is  that  my  tastes  are  simple.  A  fine  tough  old  dry 
camel,  no  doubt,  a  a  nuu'h  nobler  and  more  sagacious  animal — 
and  perhaps  you  think  a  double  hump  is  quite  a  delicacy. 

Yes :  Mrs.  Philip  was  a  success.  She  had  scarce  any  female 
friends  as  yet,  being  too  poor  to  go  into  the  world;  but  she  had 
Mrs.  Pendennis,  and  dear  little  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford,  whose  celebrated  trap  repeatedly  brought  delicacies  for  the 
bride  from  Hampstead,  whose  chaise  was  once  or  twice  a  week 
at  Philip's  door,  and  who  was  very  much  exercised  and  impressed 
by  the  fine  company  whom  she  met  in  Mrs.  Firmin's  apartments. 
"  Lord  Thingambury's  card !  what  next,  Brandon,  upon  my 
word?  Lady  Slowby  at  home?  well,  I  never,  Mrs.  B.  1"  In 
such  artless  phrases  Mrs.  Mugford  would  express  her  admiration 
and  astonishment  during  the  early  time,  and  when  Charlotte  sfill 
retained  the  good  lady's  ftivor.  That  a  state  of  things  far  less 
agreeable  ensued  I  must  own.  But  though  there  is  ever  so  small 
a  cloud  in  the  sky  even  now,  let  us  not  heed  it  for  a  while,  and 
bask  and  be  content  and  happy  in  the  sunshine.  u  Oh,  Laura, 
1  tremble  when  I  think  how  happy  1  am !"  was  our  little  bird's 
perpetual  warble.  "  How  did  I  live  when  I  was  at  home  with 
mamma?"  she  would  say.  "  Do  you  know  that  Philip  never 
even  scolds  me  ?  If  he  were  to  say  a  rough  word  I  think  I  should 
die;  whereas  mamma  was  barking,  barking  from  morning  till 
night,  and  I  did  n't  care  a  pin."  This  is  what  comes  of  injudi- 
cious scolding,  as  of  any  other  drug.  The  wholesome  medicine 
loses  its  effect.  The  inured  patient  calmly  takes  a  dose  that 
would  frighten  or  kill  a  stranger.  Poor  Mrs.  Baynes'  crossed 
letters  came  still,  and  I  am  not  prepared  to  pledge  my  word  that 
Charlotte  read  them  all.  Mrs.  B.  offered  to  come  and  superin- 
tend and  take  care  of  dear  Philip  when  an  interesting  event 
should  take  place.  But  Mrs.  Brandon  was  already  engaged  for 
this  important  occasion,  and  Charlotte  became  so  alarmed  lest 
her  mother  should  invade  her,  that  Philip  wrote  curtly,  and  posi- 
tively forbade  Mrs.  Baynes.  You  remember  the  picture,  "A 
Cradle,"  by  J.  J.  ?  the  two  little  rosy  feet  brought  I  don't  know 
how  many  hundred  guineas  a  piece  to  Mr.  Ridley.  Tihe  mother 
herself  did  not  study  babydom  more  fondly  and  devotedlv  than 
Ridley  did  in  the  ways,  looks,  features,  anatomies,  attitudes,  baby- 
clothes,  etc.,  of  this  first-born  iutant  of  Charlotte  and  Philip 
Firmin.  My  wife  is  very  angry  because  I  have  forgotten  whether- 
the  first  of  the  young  Firmin  brood  was  a  boy  or  a  girl,  and  says 
I  shall  forget  the  names  of  my  own  children,  next.  Well?  At 
this  distance  of  time  I  think  it  was  a  boy — for  their  boy  is  very 
tall,  you  know — a  great  deal  taller —  Not  a  boy  ?  Then, 
between  ourselves,  I  have  no  doubt  it  was  a — j  "A  goose,"»says 
the  lady,  which  is  not  even  reasonable. 

This  is  cert  am,  we  all  thought  the  young  mother  looked  very 
pretty,  with  her  pink  cheeks  and  beaming  eyes,  as  she  bent  over 


380  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

the  little  infant.  J.  J.  says  he  thinks  there  is  something  heavenly 
in  the  looks  of  young  mothers  at  that  time.  Nay,  he  goes  so  far 
as  to  declare  that  a  tigress  at  the  Zoological  Gardens  looks 
beautiful  and  gentle  as  she  bends  her  black  nozzle  over  her 
cubs.  And  if  a  tigress,  why  not  Mrs.  Philip  ?  O  ye  powers  of 
sentiment,  rn  what  a  state  J.  J.  was  about  this  young  woman ! 
There  is  a  brightness  in  a  young  mother's  eye  ;  there  are  pearl 
and  rose  tints  on  her  cheek,  which  are  sure  to  fascinate  a  painter. 
This  artist  used  to  hang  about  Mrs.  Brandon's  rooms  till  it  was 
droll  to  see  him.  I  believe  he  took  oif  his  shoes  in  his  own 
studio,  so  as  not  to  disturb  by  his  creaking  the  lady  overhead. 
He  purchased  the  most  preposterous  mug,  and  other  presents  for 
the  infant.  Philip  went  out  to  his  club  or  his  newspaper  as  he 
was  ordered  to  do.  But  Mr.  J?  J.  could  not  be  got  away  from 
Thornhaugh  street,  so  that  little  Mrs..  Brandon  laughed  at  him — 
absolutely  laughed  at  him. 

During  all  this  while  Philip  and  his  wife  continued  in  the 
very  greatest  favor  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mugford,  and  were 
invited  by  that  worthy  couple'  to  go  with  their  infant  to  Mug- 
ford's  villa  at  Hampstead,  where  a  change  of  air  might  do  good  to 
dear  baby  and  dear  mamma.  *  Philip  went  to  this  village  retreat. 
Streets  and  terraces  now  cover  over  the  house  and  grounds 
which  worthy  Mugford  inhabited,  and  which  people  say  he  used 
to  call  his.  Russian  Irby.  He  had  amassed  in  a  small  space  a 
heap  of  country  pleasures.  He  had  a  little  garden,  a  little  pad- 
dock, a  little  greenhouse,  a  little  cucumber-frame,  a  little  stable 
for  his  little  trap,  a  little  Guernsey  cow,  a  little  dairy,  a  little 
pig-sty — and  with  this  little  treasure  the  good  man  was  not  a 
little  content.  He  loved  and  praised  everything  that  was  his. 
No  man  admired  his  own  port  more  than  Mugford,  or  paid  more 
compliments  to  his  own  butter  and  home-baked  bread.  He 
enjoyed  his  own  happiness.  He  appreciated  his  own  worth. 
He  loved  to  talk  of  the  days  when  he  was  a  poor  boy  on  London 
streets,  and  now,  "  now  try  that  glass  of  part,  my  boy,  and  say 
whether  the  Lord  Mayor  has  got  any  better,"  he  would  say, 
winking  •>  his  glass  and  his  company.  To  be  virtuous,  to  be 
lucky,  and  constantly  to  think  and  own  that  you  are  so — is  not 
this  true  happiness  V  To  sing  hymns  in*  praise  of  himself  is  a 
charming  amusement — at  least  to  the  performer ;  and  anybody 
who  dined  at  Mugtbrd's  table  was  pretty  sure  to  h'ear  some  of 
this  music  after  dinner.  I  am  sorry  to  say  Philip  did  not  care 
for  this  trumpet-blowing.  He  was  frightfully  bored  at  Haver- 
stock  Hill ;  and  when  bored,  Mr.  Philip  is  not  altogether  an 
agreeable  companion.  He  will  yawn  in  a  man's  face.  He  will 
contradict  you  freely.  He  will  say  the  mutton  is  tough,  or  the 
wine  not  fit  to  drink  ;  that  such  and  such  an  orator  is  overrated, 
and  such  and  such  a  politician  is  a  fool.  Mugford  and  his  guest 
had  battles  after  dinner,  had  actually  high  words.     "  What-hever 


ON   HIS   WAY  THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  381 

is  it,  Mugford  ?  and  what  we^e  you  two  quarrelling  about  in  the 
dining-room  ?"  asks  Mrs.  Mugford.  "  Quarrelling  i  it  'sonly  the 
sub-editor  snoring,"  said  the  gentleman,  with  a  flushed  face. 
"  My  wine  ain't  good  enough  for  him  ;  and  now  my  gentleman 
must  put  his  boots  upon  a  chair  and  go  to  sleep  under  my  nose. 
He  is  a  cool  hand,  and  no  mistake,  Mrs.  M."  At  this  juncture 
poor  little  Char  would  gently  glide  down  from  a  visit  to  her  baby, 
and  would  play  something  on^the  piano,  and  soothe  the  rising 
anger;  and  thusJPhilip*  would  come  in  from  a  little  walk  in  the 
shrubberies,  where  he  had  been  blowing  a  little  cloud.  Ah  1 
there  was  a  little  cloud  rising  indeed — quite  a  little  one — nay, 
not  so  little.  When  you  consider  that  Philip's  brVad  depended 
on  the  good-will  of- these  people,  you  will  allow  that  his  friends 
might  be  anxious  regarding  the  future.  A  word  from  Mugford, 
and  Philip  and  Charlotte  and  the  child  were  adrift  on  the  world. 
And  these  points  Mr.  Firmin  would  freely  admit,  while  he  stood 
discoursing  of  his  own  affairs  (as  he  loved' to  do),  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  and  his  back  warming  at  our  fire. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  says  the  candid  bridegroom,  "  these  things 
are  constantly  in  my  head.  I  used  to  talk  about  'em  to  Char, 
but  I  don't  now.  They  disturb  her,  the  poor  thing  ;  and  she 
clutches  hold  of  the  baby;  and — and  it  tears  my  heart  out  to 
think  that  any  grief  should  come  to  her.  I  try  and  do  my  best, 
ray  good  people — but  when  I  'm  bored  I  can't  help  showing  I  'm 
bored,  don't  you  see  ?  I  can't  be  a  hypocrite.  No,  not  for  two 
hundred  a  year,  or  for  twenty  thousand.  You  can't  make  a  silk 
purse  out  of  that  sow's- ear  of  a  Mugford.  A  very  good  man.  I 
don't  say  no.  A  good  father,  a  good  husband,  a  generous  host, 
and  a  most  tremendous  bore  and  cad.  Be  agreeable  to  him  ? 
How  can  I  be  agreeable  when  I  am  being  killed?  He  has  a 
story  about  Leigh  Hunt  being  put  into  Newgate,  where  Mug- 
ford, bringing  him  proofs,  saw  Lord  Byron.  I  can  not  keep 
awake  during  that  story  any  longer  ;  or,  if  awake,  I  grind  my 
teeth  and  swear  inwardly,  so  that  I  know  I'm  dreadful  to  hear 
and  see.  Well,  Mugford  has  yellow  satin  sofas  in  the  '  droaring- 
room.'  " 

u  Oh,  Philip  !;'  says  a  lady  ;  and  two  or  three  circumjacent 
children  set  up  an  insane  giggle,  which  is  speedily  and  sternly 
silenced. 

"  1  tell  you  she  calls  it  '  droaring-room.'  You  know  she  does 
as  well  as  I  do.  She  is  a  good  woman  ;  a  kind  woman  ;  a  hot- 
tempered  woman.  I  hear  her  scolding  the  servants  in  the 
kitchen  with  immense  vehemence  and  at  prodigious  length. 
But  how  can  Char  frankly  be  the  friend  of  a  woman  who  calls 
a  drawing-room  a  droaring-room  ?  With  our  dear  little  friend 
in  Thornhaugh  street  it  is  different.  She  makes  no  pretence 
even  at  equality.  Here  is  a  patron  and  patroness,  don't  you 
see  V     When  Mugford  walks  me  round  his  paddock  and  gardens, 


382  ._    THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  says,  '  Look  ye'ar.  Firmin ;'  or^scratches  one  of  Lis  pigs  on 
the  back,  and  sajs,  '  We  '11  'ave  a  cut  of  this  fellow  on  Satur- 
day'—  (explosive  attempts  at  insubordination  and  derision  on 
the  part  of  the  children  again  are  severely  checked  by  the 
parental  authorities) — 'we  '11  'ave  a  cut  of  this  fellow  on 
Saturday,'  I  felt  inclined  to  throw  him  or  myself  into  the  trough 
over  the  palings.  Do  you  know  that  that  man  put  that-hand  into 
his  pocket  and  offered  me  some  filberts  ?" 

Here  I  own  the  lady  to  whom  Philip  Was  addressing  himself 
turned  pale  and  shuddered. 

"  I  can  no  more  be  that  man's  friend  que  cehci  du  domestique 
qui  vient  d'apporler  le  what-d'you-call  'em  ?  le  coal-scuttle  " — 
(John  entered  the  room  with  that  useful  article  during  Philip's 
oration — and  we  allowed  the  elder  children  to  laugh  this  time, 
for  the  fact  is,  none  of  us  knew  the  French  for  coal-scuttle,  and 
I  will  wager  there  is  no  such  word  in  Chambaud).  "  This  hold* 
ing  back  is  not  arrogance,"  Philip  went  on.  "  This  reticence  is 
not  want  of  humility.  To  serve  that  man  honestly  is  one  thing; 
to  make  friends  with  him,  to  laugh  at  his  dull  jokes,  is  to  make 
friends  with  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness,  is  subserviency 
and  hypocrisy  on  my  part.  I  ought  to  say  to  him,  Mr.  Mugford, 
I  will  give  you  my  wOrk  for  your  wage ;  I  will  compile  your  pa- 
per, I  will  produce  an  agreeable  miscellany  containing  proper 
proportions  of  news,  politics,  and  scandal,  put  titles  to  your  par- 
agraphs, see  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  ship-shape  through  the  press, 
and  go  home  to  my  wife  and  dinner.  You  are  my  employer, 
but  you  are  not  my  friend,  and —  Bless  my  soul !  there  is  five 
o'clock  striking  !"  (The  time-piece  in  our  drawing-room  gave 
that  announcement  as  he  was  speaking.)  "  We  have  what 
Mugford  calls  a  white-choker  dinner  to-day,  in  honor  of  the  pig!" 
And  with  this  Philip  plunges  out  of  the  house,  and  1  hope  reach- 
ed Hampstead  in  time  for  the  entertainment. 

Philip's  friends  in  Westminster  felt  no  little  doubt  about  his 
prospects,  and  the  Little  Sister  shared  their  alarm.  "  They  are 
not  fit,  to  be  with  those  folks,"  Mrs.  Brandon  said,  "though,  as 
for  Mrs.  Philip,  dear  thing,  I  am  sure  nobody  can  ever  quarrel 
with  her.  With  me  it 's  different.  I  never  had  no  education, 
you  know — no  more  than  the  Mugfords;  but  I  don't  like  to  see 
my  Philip  sittin'  down  as  if  he  was  the  guest  and  equal  of  that 
fellar. '  Nor  indeed  did  it  ever  enter  '>  that  fellow's"  head  that 
Mr.  Robert  Mugford  could.be  Mr.  Philip  Firmin's  equal.  With 
our  knowledge  of  the  two  men,  then,  we  all  dismally  looked 
forward  to  a  rupture  between  Firmin  and  his  patron. 

As  for  the  New  York  journal,  we  were  more  easy  in  respect 
to  Philip's  success  in  that  quarter.  Several  of  his  friends  made 
a  vow  to  help  him.  We  clubbed  club-stories ;  we  begged  from 
our  polite  friends  anecdotes  (that  would  bear  sea-transport)  of 
the  fashionable  world.     We  happened  to  overhear  the  most  re- 


ON   HIS   WAY    THROUGH   THE   WORlfD.  383 

mark  able  conversations  between  the  most  influential  public 
characters,  who  had  no  secrets  from  us.  We  had  astonishing 
intelligence  at.  most  European  courts;  exclusive  leports  of  the 
Emperor  of  Russia's  last  joke — his  last  ?  his  next,  very  likely. 
We  knew  the  most  secret  designs  of  the  Austrian  Privy  Council; 
the  views  which  the  Pope  had  in  his  eye;  who  was  the  latest 
favorite  of  the  Grand  Turk,  and  so  on.  The  Upper  Ten  Thou- 
sand at  New  York  were  supplied  with  a  quantity  of  information 
which  I  trust  profited  them.  It  was  "  Palmerston  remarked 
yesterday  at  dinner,'-  or  "  The  good  old  Duke  said  last  night  at 
Apsley  House,  to  the  French  Embassador,"  and  the  rest.  The 
letters  were  signed  u  Philalethes;'  and,  as  nobody  was  wounded 
by  the  shafts  of  our  long  bow,  I  trust  Mr.  Philip  and  his  friends 
may  be  pardoned  for  twanging  it.  By  information  procured 
from  learned  female  personages,  we  even  managed  to  give 
accounts,  more  or  less  correct,  of  the  latest  ladies'  fashions.  We 
were  members  of  all  the  clubs ;  we  were  present  at  the  routs 
and  assemblies  of  the  political  leaders  of  both  sides.  We  had 
little  doubt  that  Philalethes  would  be  successful  at  New  York, 
and  looked  forward  to  an  increased  payment  for  his  labors.  At 
the  end  of  the  first  year  of  Philip  Firmin's  married  life  we  made 
a  calculation  by  which  it  was  clear  that  he  had  actually  saved 
money.  His  expenses,  to  be  sure,  were  increased.  There  was 
a  baby  in  the  nursery ;  but  there  was  a  little  bag  of  sovereigns 
in  the  cupboard,  and  the  thrifty  young  fellow  hoped  to  add  still 
more  to  his  store. 

We  were  relieved  at  finding  that  Firmin  and  his  wife  were 
not  invited  to  repeat  their,  visit  to  their  employer's  house  at 
Hampstead.  An  occasional  invitation  to  dinner  was  still  sent  to 
the  young  people ;  but  Mugford,  a  haughty  man  in  his  way, 
with  a  proper  spirit  of  his  own,  had  the  good  sense  to  see  that 
much  intimacy  could  not  arise  between  him  and  his  sub-editor, 
and  magnanimously  declined  to  be  angry  at  the  young  fellow's 
easy  suptreiliousness.  I  think  that  indefatigable  Little  Sister 
was  the  peace-maker  between  the  houses  of  Mugford  and  Firmin 
junior,  and  that  she  kept  both  Philip  and  his  master  on  their 
good  behavior.  At  all  events,  and  when  a  quarrel  did  arise  be- 
tween them,  I  grieve  to  have  to  own  it  was  poor  Philip  who  was 
in  the  wrong. 

You  know  in  the  old,  old  days  the  young  king  and  queen 
never  gave  any  christening  entertainment  without  neglecting  to 
invite  some  old  fairy,  who  was  furious  at  the  omission.  I  am 
sorry  to  say  Charlotte's  mother  was  so  angry  at  not  being  ap- 
pointed godmother  to  the  new  baby,  that  she  omitted  to  make 
her  little  quarterly  payment  of  £12  10s.;  and  has  altogether 
discontinued  that  pay  ment  from  that  remote  period  up  to  the* 
present  time  ;  so  that  Philip  sa>s  his  wife  has  brought,  him  a  fort- 
une of  £45,  paid  in  four  instalments     There  was  the  first  quar- 


384  *    THE    ADVENTURES    OP   PHILIP 

ter  paid  when  "the  old  lady  "would  not  be  beholden  to  a  man 
like  him."  Then  there  came  a  second  quarter ;  and  then — but 
I  dare  say  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  when  and  how  Philip's  mamma- 
fn-law  paid  the  rest  of  her  poor  little  daughter's  fortune. 

Well,  Regent's  park  is  a  fine  healthy  place  for  infantine  diver- 
sion, and  I  don't  think  Philip  at  all  demeaned  himself  in  walking 
there  with  his  wife,  her  little  maid,  and  his  baby  on  his  arm. 
"  He  is  as  rude  as  a  bear,  and  his  manners  are  dreadful ;  but  he 
has  a  good  heart,  that  I  will  say  for  him,"  Mugford  said  to  me. 
In  his  drive  from  London  to  Hampstead  Mugford  once  or  twice 
met  the  little  family  group,  of  which  his  sub-editor  formed  the 
principal  figure ;  and  for  the  sake  of  Philip's  young  wife  and 
child  Mr.  M.  pardoned  the  young  man's  vulgarity,  and  treated 
him  with  long-suffering. 

Poor  as  he  was,  this  was  his  happiest  time,  my  friend  is  disposed 
to  think.  A  young  child,  a  young  wife,  whose  whole  life  was  a  ten- 
der caress  of  love  for  child  and  husband,  a  young  husband  watch- 
ing both:  I  recall  the,  group,  as  we  used  often  to  see  it  in  those 
days,  and  see  a  something  sacred  in  the  homely  figures.  .On  the 
wife's  bright  face  what  a  radiant  happiness  there  is,  and  what  a 
rapturous  smile !  Over  the  sleeping  infant  and  the  happy 
mother  the  father  looks  with  pride  and  thanks  in  his  eyes.  Hap- 
piness and  gratitude  fill  his  simple  heart,  and  prayer  involuntary 
to  the  Giver  of  good,  that  he  may  have  strength  to  do  his  duty 
as  father,  husband  ;  that  he  may  be  enabled  to  keep  want  and 
care  from  those  dear  innocent  beings;  that  he  may  defend  them, 
befriend  them,  leave  them  a  good  name.  I  am  bound  to  say  that 
Philip  became  thrifty  and  saving  for  the  sake  of  Char  and  the 
child;  that  became  home  early  of  nights ;  that  bethought  his 
child  a  wonder ;  that  he  never  tired  of  speaking  about  that  in- 
fant in  our  house — about  its  fatness,  its  strength,  its  weight,  its 
wonderful  early  talents  and  humor.  He  felt  himself  a  man  now 
for  the  first  time,  he  said."  Life  had  been  play  and  folly  until 
now.  And  now  especially  he  regretted  that  he  had  been  idle, 
and  had  neglected  his  opportunities  as  a  lad.  Had  he  studied 
for  the  bar,  he  might  have  made  that  profession  now  profitable, 
and  a  source  of  honor?and  competence  to  his  family.  Our  friend 
estimated  his  own  powers  very  humbly ;  and  I  am  sure  he  was 
not  the  less  amiable  on  account  of  that  humility.  O  fortunate  he, 
of  whom  Love  is  the  teacher,  the  guide  and  master,  the  reformer 
and  chastener !  Where  was  our  friend's  former  arrogance,  self- 
confidence,  and  boisterous  profusion  ?  He  was  at  the  feet  of  his 
wife  and  child.  He  was  quite  humbled  about  himself;  or  grati- 
fied himself  in  fondling  and  caressing  these.  They  taught  him, 
he  said ;  and,  as  he  thought  of  them,  his  heart  turned  in  awful 
thanks  to  the  gracious  heaven  which  had  given  them  to  him  As 
the  tiny  infant  hand  closes  round  his  fingers,  I  can  see  the  father 
bending  over  mother  and  child,  and  interpret  those  maybe  un- 


ON    HI8    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  385 

spoken  blessings  which  he  asks  and  bestows.  Happy  wife,  happy 
husband !  However  poor  his  little  home  may  be,  it  holds  treas- 
ures and  wealth  inestimable;  whatever  storing  may  threaten 
without,  the  home  fireside  js  brightened  with  the  welcome  of  tii". 
dearest  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

IN  WHICH  I  OWN  THAT    PHILIP    TELLS  AN    UNTRUTH. 

Charlotte  (and  the  usual*  little  procession  of  nurse,  baby, 
etc.)  once  made  then'  appearance  at  our  house  in  Queen  square, 
where  they  were  ever  welcome  by  the  lady  of  the  mansion.  The 
young  woman  was  in  a  great  state  of  elation,  and  when  we  came 
to  hear  the  cause  of  her  delight,  her  friends  too  opened  the  eyes 
of  wonder.  She  actually  announced  that  Dr.  Firmin  had  sent 
over  a  oill  of  forty  pounds  (I  may  be  incorrect  as  to  the  sum) 
from  New  York.  It  had  arrived  that  morning,  and  she  had  seen 
the  bill,  avd  Philip  had  told  her  that  his  father  had  sent  it;  and 
was  it  not,  a  comfort  to  think  that  popr  Doctor  Firmin  was  en- 
deavoring to  repairsoyne  of  the  evil  which  he  had  done  ;  and  that 
he  was  repenting,  and  perhaps  was  going  to  become  quite 
honest  and  good  ?  This  was  indeed  an  astounding  piece  of 
intelligence  :  and  the  two  women  felt  joy  at  the  thought  of  that 
sinner  repenting;  and  some  one  else  was  accused  of  cynicism, 
skepticism,  and  so  forth,  for  doubting  the  correctness  of  the  infor- 
mation. "You  believe  .in  no  one,  sir.  You  are  always  incred- 
ulous about  good,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  was  the  accusation  brought 
against  the  reader's  very  humble  servant.  Well,  about  the  con- 
trition of  this  -sinner,  I  confess  I  still  continued  to  have  doubts ; 
and  thought  a  pres'ent  of  forty  pounds  to  a  son,  to  whom  he  owed 
thousands,  was  no  great  proof  of  the  doctor's  amendment. 

And  oh  !  how  vexec^  some  people  were  when  the  real  story 
came  out  at  last !  Not  for  the  money's  sake  ;  not  because  they 
were  wrong  in  argument,  and  I  turned  out  to  be  right.  Oh,  no  ! 
But  because  it  was  proved  that  this  unhappy  doctor  had  no 
present  intention  of  repenting  at  all.  This  brand  would  not 
come  out  of  the  burning,  whatever  we  might  hope  ;  and  the  doc- 
tor's supporters  were  obliged  to  admit  as  much  when  they  came 
to  know  the  real  story.  "Oh,  Philip,"  cries  Mrs.  Laura,  when 
next  she  saw  Mr  Firmin,  "  how  pleased  I  was  to  hear  of  that 
letter !"  •  • 

"  That  letter?"  asks  the  gentleman. 

"  That  letter  from  your  father  at  New  York,"  says  the  lady. 

"  Oli,"  says  the  gentleman  addressed*  with  a  red  face. 

"  What  then  ?     Is  it  not — is  it  not  all  true  V"  we  ask. 
83 


386    -  THE   ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

"  Poor  Charlotte  does  not  understand  about  business,"  says 
Philip  ;  "  I  did  not  read  the  letter  to  her.  'Here  it  is."  And 
he  hands  over  the  document  to  me,  and  1  have  the  liberty  to 
publish  it : 

"  New  York,  . 

"And  so,  my  dear  Philip,  I  may  congratulate  myself  ou  having 
achieved  ancestral  honor,  and  may  add  grandfather  to  my  titles  ?  How 
quickly  this  one"  has  come!  I  feel  myself  a  young  man  still,  in  spite 
of  the  hloirs  of  misfortune — at  least,  I  know  I  was  a  young  man  hut 
yesterday,  when  I.  may  say  with  our  dear  old  poet,  Non  sine  gloria 
milituri.  Suppose  I  too  were  to  tire  of  solitary  widoAvhood  and  re-enter 
the  married  state  ?  There  are  one  or  two  ladies  here  who  would  still 
condescend  to  look  not.  unfavorably  on  the  retired  English  aentleman. 
Without  vanity  I  may  say  it,  a  man  of  hirth  and  position. in  England 
acquires  a  polish  and  refinement  of  manner  which  dollars  can  not  pur- 
chase, and  many  a  Watt  street  millionary  might  envy  ! 

"  Your  wife  has  been  pronounced  to  be  an  angel  by  a  little  eorrespond- 
i  it.'  of  mine,  who  gives  me  much  fuller  intelligence  of  my  family  than 
my  son  condescends,  to  furnish.  Mrs.  Philip,  I  hear,  is  gentle ;  Mrs. 
Brandon  says  she  is  beautiful — she  is  all  good-humored.  I  hope  you 
have  taught  her  to  think  not  nr?/ badly  of  her  husband's  father.  I 
was  the  dupe  of  villains  who  lured  me  into  their  schemes  ;  who  robbed 
me  of  a  life's  earnings  ;  who  induced  me,  by  their  false  representations, 
to  have  such  confidence  in  them  that  I  embarked  all  my  ow£  property, 
and  jours,  my  poor  boy,  alas  !  in  their  undertakings.  Your  Charlotte 
will  take  the  liberal,  the  wise,  the  just  view  of  the  case,  and  pity  rather 
than  blame  my  misfortune.  Such  is  the  view,  I  am  happy  to  say,  gen- 
erally adopted  in  this  citj^,  where  there  are  men  of  the  world  who 
know  the  vicissitudes  of  a  mercantile  career,  and  can  make  allowances 
for  misfortune !  What  made  Home  at  first  great  and  prosperous  ? 
Were  its  first  colonists  all  wealthy  patricians  ?  Nothing  can  be  more 
satisfactory  than  the- disregard  shown  here  to  mere  pecuniary  difficulty. 
At  the  same  time  to  be  a  gentleman  is  to  possess  no  trifling  privilege 
in  this  society,  where  the  advantages  of  birth,  respected  name,  and 
early  education,  always  tell  in  the  possessor's  favor.  Many'persons 
whom  I  visit  here  have  certainly  not  these  advantages;  and  in  the  - 
highest  society  of  the  city  I  could  point  out  individuals  who  have  had  * 
pecuniary  misfortunes  like  myself,  who  have  gallantly  renewed  the 
combat  after  their  fall,  and  are  now  fully  restored  to  competence,  to 
wealth,,  and  the  respect  of  the  world  !  I  was  in  a  house  in  Fifth 
avenue  last  night.  Is  Washington  White  shunned  by  his  fellow-men 
because  ho  has  been  a  bankrupt  three  times  ?  Anj'thing  more  elegant 
or  profuse  than  his  entertainment  I  have  not  witnessed  on  this  conti- 
nent. His  lady  had  diamonds  which  a  duchess  might  envy.  The 
most  costly  wines,  the  most  magnificent  supper,  and  myriads  of  canvas-  * 
backed  ducks  covered  his  board.  Dear  Charlotte,  my  friend  Captain 
Colpoys  brings  you  over  three  brace  of  these  from  3'our  father-in-law, 
who  hopes  they  will  furnish  your  little  dinner-table!  We  cat  currant 
je^ly   with   them  here,  but  I  like   an  old  English  lemon  and  cayenne 

sauce  better. 

#  • 

"  By  the  way,  dear  Philip,  I  trust  you  will  not  be  inconvenienced  by 
a  little  financial  operation,  which  necessity  (alas  !)  has  compelled  me 
to  perform.     Knowing  that  your  quarter  with  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand 

Gazette  was  now  due,  I  have  made  so  bold  as  to  request  Colonel* 

to  pay  it  over  to  me.     Promises  to  pay  must  be  met  here  as  with  us — 


ON    HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  387 

an  obdurate  holder  of  an  unlucky  acceptance  of  mine  (I  am  happy  to 
say  there  are  very  few  such)  would  admit  of  no  delay]  and  I  have  been 
compelled  to  appropriate"  my  poor  Philip'.-'  earnings*  I  have  only  put 
you  off  foV  ninety  days:  with  year  credit  arid  wealthy  friends  you  can 
raxi/i/  negotiate  the  bitl  inclosed,  and  I  p rati /■•■<  y  >u  thai  when  presented 
it  shall  be  honored  by  my  Philip's  ever  aifeetionate  father. 

^  .         »  "G.  B.  F. 

"By  the  way.  your  Philalcthes'  letters  are  not  </u ite  9pi«y  enough, 
my  worthy  friend  the  colonel  says.  They  t&eelegaiH  and  tftoff,  but  the 
public  here  desires  to  have  more  pemaiutl  ue.irs  ;  a  little  xrtaulal  about 
Queen  Elizabeth,  yen  understand?  Can't  you  attack  somebody  ?  Look 
at  the  letters  and  articles  published  by  my  respected  friend  of  the  New 
York  Emerald!  The  readers  here  like  a>. high-spiced  article:  and  I 
recommend  P.  P.  to  put  a  little  more  pepper  in  his  dishes.  What  a 
comfort  to  me  it  is  to  think  that  I  have- procured  this  place  for  you, 
and  have  been  enabled  to  help  my  son  and  his  young  family. 

"G.  £.  F." 

Inclosed  in  this  letter  was  a  slip  of  paper  which  poor  Philip 
supposed  to  be  a  check  when  he  first  beheld  it,  but  which 
turned  out  to  be  his  papa's  promissory  note,  payable  at  New 
York  four  months  after  date.  And  this  document  was  to  repre- 
sent the  money  which  the  elder  Firmin  had  received  in  his  son's 
name  !  Philip's  eyes  met  his  friend's  when  they  talked  about 
this  matter.  Firmin  looked  almost  as  much  ashamed  as  if  he 
himself  had  done  the  wrong. 

"  Does  the  loss  of  this  money  annoy  you  ?"  asked  Philip's 
friend, 

"The  manner  of  the  loss  does,"  said  poor  Philip.  "I  don't 
care  about  the  money.  But  he  should  not  have  taken  this.  He 
should  not  have  taken  this.  Think  of  poor  Charlotte  and  the 
child  being  in  want  possibly  !  Oh,  friend,  it  '■  hard  to  bear, 
isn't  it?  I'm  an  honest  fellow,  ain't  I?  I  think  I  am.  I 
pray  heaven  I  am.  In  any  extremity  of- poverty  could  I  have 
done  this  ?  Well.  It  was^  my  father  who  introduced  me  to 
these  people.  I  suppose  he  thinks  he  has  a  right  to  my  earn- 
ings: and  if  he  is  in  want,  you  know,  so  he"  has." 

"  Had  you  not  better  write  to  the  New  York  publishers  and 
beg  them  henceforth  to  remit  to  you  directly  V"  asks  Philip's 
friend. 

"  That  would  be  to  tell  them  that  he  has  disposed  of  the 
money,"  groans  Philip.  "I  can't  tell  them  that  my  father  is 
a—" 

"  No ;  but  you  can  thank  them  for  having  handed  ove'r  such 
a  sum  on  your  account  to  the  doctor,  and  warn  them  that  you 
will  draw,  on  them  from  this  country  henceforth.  They  won't, 
in  this  case,  pay  the  next  quarter  to  the  doctor."' 

"  Suppose  he  is  in  want,  ought  I  nofto  supply  him  ?"  Firmin 
said.  u  As  long  as  there  are  four  crusts  in  the  house,  the  doctor 
ought  to  have  one.     Ought,  I  to  be  angry  with  him  for  helping 


388  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

himself,  old  boy  ?"  and  he  drinks  a  glass  of  wine,  poor  fellow, 
with  a  rueful  smile.  By  the  way,  it  is  my 'duty  to  mention  here 
that  the  elder  Eirirjin  was  in  the  h*bit  of  giving  wry  elegant 
little  dinner-parties  at  New  York,  where  little  dinner-parties 
are  much  more  costly  than  in  Europe — "in  order,"  he  said,  "to 
establish  and  keep  up  his  connection  as  a  ptiysician."  As  a  bon- 
viiiant,  I  am  informed,  the  doctor  began  to'  be  celebrated  in  his 
new  dwelling-place,  where  his  anecdotes  of  the  British  aris- 
tocracy were  received  with  pleasure  in  certain  circles. 

But  it  would  be  as  well  henceforth  that  Philip  should  deal  di- 
rectly with  American  correspondents,  and  not  employ  the  services 
of  so  very  expensive  a  broker.  To  this  suggestion  he  could  not 
agree.  Meanwhile — and  let  this  be  a  warning  to  men  never  to 
deceive  their  wives  in  any  the  slightest  circumstances;  to  tell 
them  everything  they  wish  to  know,  to  keep  nothing  hidden  from 
those  dear  and  excellent  beings — you  must  know,  ladies,  that 
when  Philip's  famous  ship  of  dollars  arrived  from  America,  Fir- 
min  had  promised  his  wife  that  baby  should  have  a  dear  delight- 
ful white  cloak,  trimmed  with  the  most  lovely  tape,  on  which 
poor  Charlotte  had  often  cast  a  longing  eye  as  she  passed  by  the 
milliner  and  curiosity  shops,  in  Hanway  Yard,  which,  I  own,  she 
loved  to  frequent.  '  Well:  when  Philip  told  her  that  his  father 
had  sent  home  forty  pounds,  or  what  not,  thereby  deceiving  his 
fond  wife,  the  little  lady  went  away  straight  to  her  darling  shop 
in  the  yard — (Hanway  Yard  has  become  a  street  now,  but  ah  ! 
it  is  always  delightful) — Charlotte,  I  say,  went  off,  ran  off  to 
Hanway  Yard,  pavid  with  fear  lest  tke  darling  cloak  should  be 
gone,  found  it — oh,  joy — still  in  Miss  Isaacson's  window  ;  put  it 
on  baby  straightway  then  and  there  :  kissed  the  dear  infant,  and 
was"  delighted  with  the  effect  of  the  garment,  which  all  the  young 
ladies  at  Miss  Isaacson's  pronounced  to  be  perfect ;  and  took  the 
cloak  away  on  baby's  shoulders,  promising  to  send  the  money, 
five  pounds,  if  you  please,  next  day.  And  in  this  cloak  baby 
and  Charlotte  went  to  meet  papa  when  he  came  home ;  and  I 
don't  know  which  of  them,  mamma  or  baby,  was  the  most  ph-ased, 
and  absurd,  and  happy  baby  of  the  two.  On  his  way  home  from 
his  newspaper,  Mr.  Philip  had  Orders  to  pursue  a  certain  line  of 
streets,  and  when  his  accustomed  hour  for  returning  from  his 
business  drew  nigh,  Mrs.  Char  went  down  Thornhaugh  street, 
down  Charlotte  street,  down  Rathbone  place,  with  Betsy  the 
nursekin  and  baby  in  the  new  cloak.  Behold,  he  comest  at  last 
— papa— striding  down  the  street.  He  sees  the  figures:  he  sees 
the  child,  which  laughs,  and  holds  out  its  little  pink  hands,  and 
crows  a  recognition.  And,u  Look — look,  papa'''  cries  the  happy 
mother.  (Away  !  I  can  not  keep  up  the  mystery  about  the  baby 
an-y  longer,  and  though  I  had  forgotten  for  a  moment  the  child's 
sex,  remembered  it  the  instant  after,  and  that  it  was  a  girl,  to  be 
sur«,  and  that  its  name  was  Laura  Caroline.)     "  Look,  look, 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH. THE  WORLD.  -  389 

papa  !"-  erics  the  happy  mother.  "  She  has  got  another  littte 
tooth  since  the  morning — such  a  beautiful  little  tooth  ! — and  look 
here,  sir  !  don't  you  observe  anything  V 

"  Any  what  V"  asks  Philip. 

uLa!  sir,"  says  Betsy,  uri  vin<r  Laura  Caroline  a  great  toss,  so 
that,  her  white  cloak  floats  in  the  air. 

"  Is  n't  it  a  dear  cloak  ?"  cries  mamma ;  "  and  does  n't  baby  look 
like  an  angel  in  it  ?  I  bought  it  at,  Miss  Isaacson's  to-day,  as  you 
got  your  money  from  New  York  ;  and  oh,  my  dear,  it  only  cost 
five  guineas." 

"  Well,  it  's  a  week's  work,"  sighs  poor  Philip;  "and  T  think 
I  need  not  grudge  that  to  give  Charlotte  pleasure."  And  he 
feels  his  empty  pockets  rather  ruefully. 

u  God  bless  you,  Philip  !"  says  my  wife,  with  her  eyes  full. 
"They  came  here  this  morning,  Charlotte  and  the  nurse  and  the 
baby  in  the  new — the  new — "  Here  the  lady  seized  hold  of 
Philip's  hand,  and  fairly  broke  out  into  tears.  H  id  she  embraced 
Mr.  Firtnin  before  her  husband's  own  eyes  1  should  not  have 
been  surprised.  Indeed  she  confessed  that  she  was  on  the  point 
of  giving  way  to  this  most  sentimental  outbreak. 

And  now,  my  brethren,  see  how  one  crime  is  the  parent  of 
many,  and  on.'  a-t  of  duplicity  leads  to  a  whole  career  of  deceit. 
In  the  fust  place,  you  see,  Philip  had  deceived  his  wife — with  the 
pious  desire,  it  is  true,  of  .-creening  his  father's  little  peculiarities 
— but,  ruat  coelum,  we  must  tell  no  lies.  No:  and  from  this  day 
forth  I  order  John  never  to  say  Not  at  home  to  the  greatest  bore, 
dun,  dawdle  of  my  acquaintance.  If  Philip's  father  had  not  de- 
ceived him,  Philip  would  not  have  deceived  his  wife;  if  he  had 
not  deceived  his  wife,  she  would  not  have  given  five  guineas  for 
that  cloak  tor  the  baby.  If  she  had  not  given  five  guineas  for 
the  cloak,  my  wife  wo'dd  never  have  entered  into  a  secret  corres- 
pondence with  Mr.  Firrain,  which  might,  but  for  my  own  sweet- 
ness of  temper,  have  bred  jealousy,  mistrust,  and  the  most  awful 
quarrels — nay,  duels — between  the  heads  of  the  two  families. 
Fancy  Philip's  body  lying  stark  upon  Hampstcad  Heath  with  a 
bullet  through  it,  di-patehed  by  the  hand  of  his  frieyid  !  Fancy 
a  cab  driving  up  to  my  own  house,  and  from  it — under  the  eyes 
of  the  children  at  the  parlor  windows — their  father's  bleeding 
corpse  ejected  !  Enough  of  this  dreadful  pleasantry  !  Two  days 
after  the  affair  of  the  cloak,  I  found  a  letter  in  Philips  hand- 
writing addressed  to  mv  wife,  and  thinking  that  the  note  had 
reference  to  a  matter  of  dinner  then  pending  between  our  fami- 
lies, I  broke  open  the  envelope  and  read  as  follows: 

t  "  TuoUNUAl'ail   STRKliT,    Thlirml '«!/. 

"Mv  deah,  kind  Godmamua  :  As  sooo  as  ever  1  can  write  and  speak, 
I  will  iliank  yen  lor  being  sq  kind  to  me.  My  mamma  says  she  is  very 
jealous,  ami  as  she  bought  my  cloak  she  can't  think  of  allowing  yoil  to 
pay  for  it.      "But  she  desires  me  nevr  to  forget  your  kindness  to  up,  and 


39$  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

though  I  don't  know  anything  about  it  now,  she  promises  to  tell  me 
when  I  am  old  enough.  Meanwhile  I  am  your  grateful  and  affectionate 
little  goddaughter,  L.   G.  F." 

Philip  was  persuaded  by  his  friends  at  home  to  send  out  the 
reque'st  to  his  New  York  employers  to  pay  his  salary  henceforth 
to  himself;  and  I  remember  a  dignified  letter  came  from  his  par- 
ent, in  which  the  matter  was  spoken  of  in  sorrow  rather  than 
in  anger',  in  which  the  doctor  pointed  out  that  this  precautionary 
measure  seemed  to  imply  a  doubt  on  Philip's  side  of  his  father's 
honor ;  and  surely,  surely,  he  was  unhappy  enough  and  unfortu- 
nate enough  already  without  meriting  this  mistrust  from  his  son. 
The  duty  of  a  son  to  honor  his  father  and  mother  was  feelingly 
pointed  out,  and  the  doctor  meekly  trusted  that  Philip's  children 
would  give  Mm  more  confidence  than  he  seemed  to  be  inclined 
to  award  to  his  unfortunate  father.  Never  mind.  He  should 
bear  no  malice.  If  Fortune  ever  smiled  on  him  again,  and  some- 
thing told  him  she  would,  he  would  show  Philip  that  he  could 
forgive ;  although  he  might  not  perhaps  be  able  to  forget  that  in 
'his  exile,  his  solitude,  his  declining  years,  his  misfortune,  his  own 
child  had  mistrusted  him.  This,  he  said,  was  the  most  cruel  blow 
of  all  for  his  susceptible  heart  to  bear. 

This  letter  of  paternal  remonstrance  was  inclosed  in  one  from 
the  doctor  to  his  old  friend  the  Little  Sister,  in  which  he  vaunt- 
ed a  discovery  which  he  and  some  other  scientific  gentlemen  were 
engaged  in  perfecting — of  a  medicine  which  was  to  be  extraor- 
dinarily efficacious  in  cases  in  which  Mrs.  Brandon  herself  was 
often  specially  and  professionally  engaged,  and  he  felt  sure  that 
the  sale  of  this  medicine  would  go  far  to  retrieve  his  shattered 
fortune.  He  pointed  out  the  complaints  in  which  this  medicine 
was  most  efficacious.  He  would  send  some  of  it,  and  details  re- 
garding its  use,  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  who  might  try  its  efficacy  upon 
her  patients.  He  was  advancing  slowly,  but  steadily,  in  his 
medical  profession,  he  said ;  though,  of  course,  he  had  to  suffer 
from  the  jealousy  of  -his  professional  brethren.  Never  mind. 
Better  times,  he  was  sure,  were  in  store  for  all;  when  his  son 
should  see  that  a  wretched  matter  of  forty  pounds  more  should 
not  deter  him  from  paying  all  just  claims  upon  him.  Amen  !  We 
all  heartily  wished  for  the  day  when  Philip's  father  should  be 
able  to  settle  his  little  accounts.  Meanwhile,  the  proprietors  of 
the  Gazette  of  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand  were  instructed  to  write 
directly  to  their  London  correspondent. 

Although  Mr.  Firmin  prided  himself,  as  we  have  seen,  upon 
his  taste"  and  dexterity  as  sub-editor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  I 
must  own  that  he  was  a  very  insubordinate  officer,  with  whom 
his  superiors  often  had  cause  to  be  angr$\  Certain  "people  were 
praised  in  the  Gazette — certain  others  were  attacked.  Very  dull 
books  were  admired,  and  very  lively  works  attacked.  Some  men 
were  praised  for  everything  they  did ;  some  others  were  satirized 


ON    HIS   WAY   THROUGH    I^E    WORLD.  391 

no  matter  what  their  works  were.  "  I  find,"  poor  Philip  used  to 
say,  with  a  groan,  "that  in  matters  of  criticism,  especially,,  there 
are  so'^>ften  private  reasons  lor  the  praise  and  the  blame  admin- 
isteredt  that  I  am  glad,  for  my  part,  my  only  duty  is  to  see  the 
paper  through  the  press.  For  instance,  there  is  Harroeks,  the 
tragedian,  of  Drury  Lane  :  every  piece  in  which  i  e  appears  is  a 
masterpiece,  and  his  performance  the  greatest  triumph  ever  wit- 
nessed. Very  good.  Harroeks  and  my  excellent  employer  are 
good  friends,  and  dine  with  each  other;  and  it  is  natural  that 
Mugford  should  like  to  have  his  friend  praised,  and  to  help  him 
in  every  way.  But  Balderson,  of  Covent  Garden,  is  also  a  very 
line  actor.  Why  can't  our  critic  see  his  merit  as  well  as  Har- 
roeks' V  Poor  Balder  son  is  never  allowed  any  merit  at  all.  He 
is  passed  over  with  a  sneer,  or  a  curt  word  of  cold  commendation, 
while  columns  of  flattery  are  not  enough  for  his  rival. ' 

"  Why,  Mr.  F.,  what  a  flat  you  must  be  ! — askin'  your,  pardon," 
remarked  Mugford,  in  reply  to  Ids  sub-editor's  simple  remon- 
strance. "  How  can  we  praise  Balderson  when  Harroeks  is  our 
friend  ?  Me  and  Harroeks  are  thick.  Our  wives  are  close 
friends.  If  J  was  to  let  Balderson  be  praised  I  should  drive  liar- 
rocks  mad.  I  can't  praise  Balderson,  don't  you  see,  out  of  justice 
to  Harroeks !'' 

Then  t\\eve  was  a  certain  author  whom  Bickerton  was  for  ever 
attacking.  They  had  had  a  private  quarrel,  and  Bickerton  re- 
venged himself  in  this  way.  Jn  reply  to  Philip's  outcries  and 
remonstrances  Mr.  Mugford  only  laughed  :  "  The  two  men  are 
enemies,  and  Bickerton  hits  him  whenever  he  can.  Why,  that 's 
only  human  nature,  Mr.  F.,"  says  Philip's  employer. 

"Great  heavens!"  bawls  out  Firmin,  "do  you  mean  to  siy 
that  the  man  is  base  enough  to  strike  at  his  private  enemies 
through  the  press  V" 

"  Private  enemies !  private  gammen,  Mr.  Firmin  !"  cries  Philip's 
employer.  "If  I  ,have  enemies — and  %I  have,  there  's  no  doubt 
about  that — I  serve  them  out  whenever  and  wherever  I  can. 
And  let  me  tell  you  I  don't  half  relish  having  my  conduct  called 
base.  It 's  only  natural ;  and  it 's  right.  Perhaps  you  would  like 
to  praise  your  enemies  and  abuse  your  friend  ?  \i'  that's  your 
line,  let  me  tell  you  you  won't  do'iu  the  noospaper  business,  and 
had  better  take  to  some  other  trade."  And  the  employer  parted 
from  his  subordinate  in  some  heat. 

Mugford,  indeed,  feelingly  spoke  to  me  about  this  insubordina- 
tion of  Philip.  "  Wbat.does  the  fellow  mean  by  quarrelling  with 
his  bread-and-butter?"  Mr.  Mugford  asked.  "  Speak  to  him,  and 
show  him  what's  what,  Mr.  P.,  or  wi-  shall  come  to  a  (jiiarrcl, 
mind  you  ;  and  I  don't  want  that,  for  the  sake  of  his  little  wife — 
poor  little  drlicate  thing  !  "Whatever  is  to  happen  to  them  if  we 
don't  stand  by  them  ?" 

What  was  to  happen  to  them,  indeed?     Any  one  who  knew 


392  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

Philip's  temper  as  we  did  was  aware  how  little  ad-vice  or  remon- 
strance were  likely  to  affect  that  gentleman.  '•  Good  heavens  !" 
he  said  to  me,  warn  I  endeavored  to  make  him  adopt  a  concilia- 
tory tone  toward  his  employer,  "  do  you  want  to  make  me  Mug- 
ford's  galley-slave?  I  shall  have  him  standing  over  me  and 
swearing  at  mre  as  he  does  at  the  printers.  He  looks  into  my 
room  at  tim^s  when  he  is  in  a  passion,  and  glares  at  me  as  if  he 
would  like  to^eize  me  by  the  throat;  and  after  a  word  or  two 
he  goes  off,  and  I  hear  him  curse  the  boye  in  the  passage.  One 
day  it  will  be  on  me  that  he  will  turn,  I  feel  sure  of  that.  I  tell 
you  the  slavery  is  beginning  to  be  awful.  I  wake  of  a  night.and 
groan  and  chafe ;  and  poor  Char,  too,  wakes  and  asks,  '  What  is 
it,  Philip  ?'  I  say  it  is  rheumatism.  Rheumatism  !"  Of  course 
to  Philip's  malady  his  friends  tried  to  apply  the  commonplace 
anodynes  and  consolations.  He  must  be  gentle  in  his  bearing. 
He  must  remember  that  his  employer  had  not  been  bred  a  gen- 
tleman, and  that  though  rou^h  and  coarse  in  language,  Mugford 
had  a  kind  heart.  "  There  is  no  need  to  tell  me  he  is  not  a  gen- 
tleman ;  I  know  that,"  says  poor  Phil.  *'  He  is  kind  to  Char  and 
the  child,  that  is  the  truth,  and  so  is  his  wife.  I  am  a  slave  for 
all  that.  He  is  my  driver.  He  feeds  me.  PjLe  has  n't  beat  me 
yet.  When  1  was  away  at  Paris  I  did  not  feefthe  chain  so  much. 
Bat  it  is  scarcely  tolerable  now.  when  I  have  to  see  my  jailer 
four  or  five  times  a  week.  My  poor  little  Char,  why  did  I  drag 
you  into  this  slavery  ?" 

"  Because  you  wanted  a  consoler,  T  suppose,"  remarks  one  of 
Philip's  comforters.  ''And  do  you  suppose  Charlotte  would  be 
happier  if  she  were  away  from  you  ?  Though  you  live  up  two 
pair  of  stairs,  is  any  home  happier  than  yours,  Philip  ?  You 
often  own  as  much  when  you  are  in  happier  moods.  Who  has 
not  his  work  to  do,  and  his  burden  to  bear  "?  You  say  sometimes 
that  you  are  imperious  and  hot-tempered.  Perhaps  your  slavery, 
as  you  call  it,  may  be  good  for  you."  % 

'•  I  have  doomed  myself  and  her  to  it,"  says  Philip,  hanging 
down  .hit  head. 

"  Does  she  ever  repine  ?"  asks  his  adviser.  "  Does  she  not 
think  herself  the  happiest  little  wife,  in  the  world?  See  here, 
Philip,  here  is  a  note  from  her  yesterday  in  which  she  says  as 
much.  Do  you  want  to  know  what  the  note  is  about,  sir  V  '  says 
the  lady  with  a  smile.  "  Well,  then,  she  wanted  a  receipt  for 
that  dish  which  you  liked  so  much  on  Friday,  and  she  and  Mrs. 
Brandon  will  make  it  for  you." 

"And  if  it  consisted  of  minced  Charlotte,"  says  Philip's  other 
friend,  "  you  know  she  would  cheerfully  cfiop  herself  up,  and 
have  herself  served  with  a  little  cream-sauce  and  sippets  of 
toast  for  your  honor's  dinner/' 

This  was  undoubtedly  true.  \Did  not  Job's  friend's  make 
many   true   remarks   when  they  visited  him  in  his   affliction*? 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  39S 

Patient,  as  lie  was,  the  patriarch  groaned  and  lamented,  and  why 
should  not  poor  Philip  be  allowed  to  grumble,  who  was  not 
a  model  of  patience  at  all  ?  He  was  not  bro*ke  in  as  yet.  The 
mill-horse  was  restive  and  kicked  at  his  work.  He  would  chafe 
not  seldom  at  the  daily  drudgery,  and  have  his  fits  of  revolt  and 
despondency.  Well?  Have  others  not  ha'd  to  toil,  to  bow  the 
proud  head,  and  carry  the  daily  burden  ?  Don't  you  see 
Pegasus,  who  was  going  to  win  the  plate,  a  weary,  broken-kneed, 
broken-down  old  cab  hack  shivering  in  the  rank  ;  or  a  sleek 
gelding,  mayhap,  pacing  under  a  corpulent  master  in  Rotten 
Kow  ?  Philip's  crust  began  to  be  scanty,  and  was  dipped  in 
bitter  waters.  I  am  not  going  to  make  a  long  story  of  this  part 
of  his  career,  or  parade  my  friend  as  too  hungry  aud  poor.  He 
is  safe  now,  and  out  of  all  peril,  heaven  be  thanked  1  but  he 
had  to  pass  through  hard  times,  and  to  look  out  very  wistfully 
lest  the  wolf  should  enter  at  the  door.  He  never  laid  claim  to 
be  a  man  of  gpnius,  nor  was  he  a  successful  quack  who  could 
pass  as  a  man  of  genius.  When  there  were  French  prisoners 
in  England,  we  know  how  stout  old  officers,  who  had  plied  their 
sabres  against  Mamelukes,  or  Russians,  or  Germans,  were  fain  to 
carve  little  jimcracks  in  bone  with  their  penknives,  or  make 
baskets  and  boxes  of  chipped  straw,  and  piteously  sell  them  to 
casual  visitors  to  their  prison.  Philip  was  poverty's  prisoner. 
He  had  to  make  such  shifts  and  do  such  work  as  he  could  find  in 
his  captivity.  I  do  not  think  men  who  have  undergone  the 
struggle  and  served  the  dire  taskmaster  like  to  look  back  and 
recall  the  grim  apprenticeship.  When  Philip  says  now,  "  What 
fools  we  were  to  marry,  Char  1"  she  looks  up  radiantly,  with  love 
and  happiness  in  her  eyes — looks  up  to  heaven,  and  is  thankful ; 
but  grief  and  sadness  come  over  her  husband's  face  at  the 
thought  of  those  days  of  pain  and  gloom.  She  mav  soothe  him, 
and  he  may  be  thankful  too  ;  but  the  wounds  arc  still  there 
which  were  dealt  to  him  in  the  cruel  battle  with  fortune.  Men 
are  ridden  down  in  it.  Men  are  poltroons,  and  run.  Men 
maraud,  break  ranks,  are  guilty  of  meanness,  cowardice,  shabby 
plunder.  Men  are  raised  to  rank  and  honor,  or  drop  and  perish' 
unnoticed  on  the  field.  Happy  he  who  comes  from  it  with  his 
honor  pure  !  Philip  did  not  win  crosses  an/1  epaulets.  He  is 
like  you  and  me,  my  dear  sir,  not  a  heroic  genius  at  all.  And  it 
is  to  be  hoped  that  all  three  have  behaved  with  an  average 
plu^k,  and  have  been  guilty  of  no  meanness,  or  treachery,  or 
desertion.  Did  you  behave  otherwise,  what  would  wife  and 
children  say  ?  As  for  Mrs.  Philip,  I  tell  you  she  thinks  to  this 
day  that  there  is  no  man  like  her  husband — is  ready  to  fail  down 
and  worship  the  boots  in  which  he  walks. 

How  do  men  live  ?  How  is  re|t  paid  ?  How  does  the  dinner 
come  day  after  day?"  As  a  rul^  there  is  dinner.  You  might 
live  longer  with  less  of  it.  but  you  can't  go  without  it  and  live 


394  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

long.  How  did  my  neighbor  23  earn  his  carriage,  and  how  did 
24  pay  for  his  house  ?  As  I  am  writing  this  sentence  Mr.  Cox, 
-who  collects  the  faxes  in  this  quarter,  walks  in.  How  do  you 
do,  Mr.  Cox?  We  are  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  meeting  one 
another.  Time  was — two,  three  years  of  time — when  poor 
Philip  was  troubled  at  the  sight  of  Cox .;  and  this  troublous 
time  his  biographer  intends  to  pass  over  in  a  very  few  pages. 

At  the  end  of  six  months  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand  of  New 
York  heard  with  modified  wonder  that  the  editor  of  that  fash- 
ionable journal  had  made  a  retreat  from  the  city,  carrying  with 
him  the  scanty  contents  of  the  till ;  so  the  contributions  of 
Pbilalethes  never  brough  our  poor  friend  any  dollars  at  all. 
But  though  one  fish  is  caught  and  eaten,  are  there  not  plenty 
more  left  in  the  sea  ?  At  this  very  time,  when  I  was  in  a  natu- 
ral state  of  despondency  about  poor  Philip's  affairs,  it  struck 
Tregarvan,  ihe  wealthy  Cornish  member  of  Parliament,  that  the 
Government  and  the  House  of  Commons  slighted  his  speeches 
and  his  views  on  foreign  politics ;  that  the  wife  of  the  Foreign 
Secretary  had  been  very  inattentive  to  Lady  Tregarvan  ;  that 
the  designs  of  a  certain  Great  Power  were  most  menacing  and 
dangerous,  and  ought  to  be  exposed  and  counteracted  ;  and  that 
the  peerage  which  he  had  long  desired  ought  to  be  bestowed  on 
him. 

Sir  John  Tregarvan  applied  to  certain  literary  and  political 
gentlemen  with  whom  he  was  acquainted.  He  would  bring  out 
the  European  Review.  He  would  expose  the  designs  of  that 
Great  Power  which  was  menacing  Europe.  He  would  show  up 
in  his  proper  colors  a  Minister  who  was  careless  of  the  country's 
honor,  and  forgetful  of  his  own:  a  Minister  whose  arrogance 
ou»ht  no  longer  to  be  tolerated  by  the  country  gentlemen  of 
England.  Sir  John,  a  little  man  in  brass  buttons,  and  a  tall 
head,  who  loves  to  hear  his  own  voice,  came  and  made  a  speech 
on  the  above  topics  to  the  writer  of  the  present  biography  ;  that 
writer's  lady  was  in  his  study  as  Sir  John  expounded  his  views 
at  some  length.  She  listened  to  him  with  the  greatest  attention 
and  respect.  She  was  shocked  to  hear  of  the  ingratitude  of 
Government ;  astounded  and  terrified  by  his  exposition  of  the 
designs  of — of  that  Great  Power  whose  intrigues  were  so  menac- 
ing to  European  tranquillity.  She  was  most  deeply  interested 
in  the  idea  of  establishing  the  Review.  He  would,  of  course,  be 
himself  the  editor ;  and — and —  (here  the  woman  looked  across 
the  table  at  her  husband  with  a  strange  triumph  in  her  eyes). 
She  knew,  they  both  knew,  the  very  man  of  all  ihe  world  who 
was  most  suited  to  act  as  sub-editor  under  Sir  John — a  gentle- 
man, one  of  the  truest  that  ever  lived — a  university  man ;  a  man 
remarkably  versed  in  the  European  languages — that  is,  in  French 
most  certainly.  And  now  the  reader,  I  dare  say,  can  guess  who 
this  individual  was.     "  I  knew  it  at  once,"  says  the  lady,  after 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  395 

Sir  John  had  taken  his  leave.  "  I  told  you  that  those  dear  chil- 
dren would  not  be  forsaken."  And  I  would  no  more  try  and 
persuade  her  that  the  European  Review  was  not  ordained  of  all 
time  to  afford  maintenance  to  Philip  than  1  would  induce  her  to 
turn  Mormon,  and  accept  all  the  consequences  to  which  ladles 
must  submit  when  they  make  profession  of  that  creed. 

"  You  see,  my  love,"  I  say  to  the  partner  of  my  existence, 
"  what  other  things  must  have  been  ordained  of  all  time  as  well 
as  Philip's  appointment  to  be  sub-editor  of  the  European  Review. 
It  must  have  been  decreed  ab  initio  that  Lady  Plinlimmon  should 
give  evening-parties,  in  order  that  she  might  offend  Lady  Tre- 
garvan  by  not  asking  her  to  those  parties.  It  must  have  been 
ordained  by  fate  that  Lady  Tregarvan  should  be  of  a  jealous 
disposition,  so  that  she  might  hate  Lady  Plinlimmon,  and  was  to 
work  upon  her  husband,  and  inspire  him  with  anger  and  revolt 
against  his  chief.  It  must  have  been  ruled  by  destiny  that  Tre- 
garvan should  be  rather  a  weak  and  wordy  personage,  fancying 
that  he  had  a  talent  for  literary  composition.  Else  he  would 
not  have  thought  of  setting  up  the  Review.  Else  he  would 
never  have  been  angry  with  Lord  Plinlimmon  for  not  inviting 
him  to  tea.  Else  he  would  not  have  engaged  Philip  as  sub- 
editor. So,  you  see,  in  order  to  bring  about  this  event,  and  put  a 
couple  of  hundred  a  year  into  Philip  Firmin's  pocket,  the  Tre- 
garvans  have  to  be  born  from  the  earliest  times :  the  PJinlim- 
mons  have  to  spring  up  in  the  remotest  ages,  and  come  down  to 
the  present  day  :  Doctor  Firmin  has  to  be  a  rogue,  and  undergo 
his  destiny  of  cheating  his  ?on  of  money :  all  mankind  up  to 
the  origin  of  our  race  are  involved  in  your  proposition,  and  we 
actually  arrive  at  Adam  and  Eve,  who  are  but  fulfilling  their 
destiny,  which  was  to  be  the  ancestors  of  Philip  Firmin." 

"  Even  in  our  first  parents  there  was  doubt  and  skepticism 
and  misgiving,"  says  the  lady,  with  strong  emphasis  on  the 
words.  "  U  you  moan  to  say  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a 
Superior  Power  watching  over  us,  and  ordaining  things  for  our 
good,  you  are  an  atheist — and  such  a  thing  as  an  atheist  does 
not  exist  in  the  world,  and  I  would  not  believe  you  if  you  said 
you  were  one  twenty  times  over." 

I  mention  these  points  by  the  wayf  and  as  samples  of  lady-like 
logic.  I  acknowledge  that  Philip  himself,  as  he  looks  back  at 
his  past  career,  is  xtry  much  moved.  "I  do  not  deny,"  he  says, 
gravely,  "that  these  things  happened  in  the  natural  order.  I 
say  I  am  grateful  for  what  happened ;  and  look  back  at  the  past 
not  without  awe.  In  great  grief  and  danger  maybe,  I  have  had 
timely  rescue.  Under  great  sufferirg  I  have  met  with  supreme 
consolation.  When  the  trial  has  seemed  almost  too  hard  for  me 
it  has  ended,  and  our  darkness  has  been  lightened.  Ut  vivo  et 
valeo — si  valeo,  I  know  by  Whose  permission  this  is — and  would 
you  forbid  me  to  be  thankful  ?  to  be  thankful  for  my  life  ;  to  be 


396  THE   ADVENTURES   OF    THILIP 

thankful  for  my  children  ;  to  be  thankful  for  the  daily  bread 
which  has  been  granted  to  me,  and  the  temptation  from  which  I 
have  been  rescued?  As  I  think  of  the  past  and  its  bitter  trials, 
1  bow  my  head  in  thanks  and  awe.  I  wanted  succor,  and  1 
found  it.  I  fell  on  evil  times,  and  good  friends  pitied  and  helped 
me — good  friends  like  j  ourself,  your  dear  wife,  many  another  I 
could  name.  In  what  moments  of  depression,  old  friend,  have 
you  not  seen  me  and  cheered  me?  Do  you  know  in  the  mo- 
ments of  our  grief  the  inexpressible  value  of  your  sympathy  ? 
Your  good  Samaritan  takes  out  only  two-pence  maybe  for  the 
wayfarer  whom  he  has  rescued,  but  the  little  timely  supply  saves 
a  life.  You  remember  dear  old  Ned  St.  George — dead  in  the 
West  Indies  years  ago?  Before  he  got  his  place  Ned  was  hang- 
in^  on  in  London,  so  utterly  poor  and  ruined  that  he  had  not 
often  a  shilling  to  buy  a  dinner.  He  used  often  to  come  to  us, 
and  "my  wife  and  our  children  loved  him ;  and  I  used  to  leave  a 
heap  of  shillings  on  my  study-table,  so  that  he  might  take  two 
or  three  as  he  wanted  them.  Of  course  you  remember  him. 
You  were  at  the  dinner  which  we  gave  him  on  his  getting  his 
place.  I  forget  fche  cost  of  that  dinner;  but  I  remember  my 
share  amounted  to  the  exact  number  of  shillings  which  poor  Ne£l 
had  taken  off  my  table.  He  gave  me  the  money  then  and  there 
at  the  tavern  at  Blackwall.  He  said  it  seemed  providential. 
But  for  those  shillings,  and  the  constant  welcome  at  our  poor 
little  table,  he  said  he  thought  he  should  have  made  away  with 
his  life.  I  am  not  bragging  of  the  two-pence  which  I  gave,  but 
thanking  God  for  sending  me  there  to  give  it.  Benedico  bene- 
dictus. 

I  wonder  sometimes  am  I  the  I  of  twenty  years  ago  ?  before 
our  heads  were  bald,  friend,  and  when  the  little  ones  reached  up 
to  our  knees.  Before  dinner  you  saw  me  in  the  library  reading 
in  that  old  European  Review  which  your  friend  Tregarvan  estab- 
lished. I  came  upon  an  article  of  my  own,  and  a  very  dull  one 
on  a  subject  which  I  knew  nothing  about:  "Persian  Politics, 
and  the  Intrigues  at  the  Court  of  Teheran."  It  was  done  to  order. 
Tregarvan  had  some  special  interest  about  Persia,  or  wanted  to 
vex  Sir  Thomas  Nobbles,  who  was  minister  there.  I  breakfasted 
with  Tregarvan  in  the  Albany,  the  facts  (we  will  call  them  facts) 
and  papers  were  supplied  to  me,  and  I  went  home  to  point  out 
the  delinquencies  of  Sir  Thomas,  and  the  atrocious  intrigues  of 
the  Russian  Court.  Well,  sir,  Nobbles,  Tregarvan,  Teheran, 
all  disappeared  as  I  looked  at  the  text  in  the  old  volume  of  the 
Review.  I  saw  a  deal  table  in  a  little  room,  and  a  reading-lamp, 
and  a  young  fellow  writing  at  it,  with  a  sad  heart,  and  a  dread- 
ful apprehension  torturing  him.  One  of  our  children  was  ill  in 
the  adjoining  roou,  and  I  have  before  me„the  figure  of  my  wife 
coming  in  from  time  to  time  to  my  room  and  saying,  "  She  is 
asleep  now.  and  the  fever  is  much  lower." 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    TUK    WORLD.  397 

Here  our  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a 
tall  young  lady,  who  says,  »  Papa,  the  coffee  is  quite  cold  :  and 
the  carriage  will  be  here  very  soon,  and  both  mamma  and  my 
godmother  say  they  are  srowing  very  angry.  Do  you  know  you 
have  been  talking  here  for  two  "hours  ?." 

Had  two  hours  actually  slipped  away  as  we  sate  prattling  about 
old  times?  As  I  narrate  them,  I  prefer  to  give  Mr.  Firmin's 
account  of  his  adventures  in  his  own  words,  where  I  can  recall  or 
imitate  them.  Both  of  us  are  graver  and  more  reverend  seign- 
iors than  we  were  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing.  Has  not 
Firmin's  girl  grown  up  to  be  taller  than  her  godmother  V  Veter- 
ans both,  we  love  to  prattle  about  the  merry  days  when  we  were 
young— (the  merry  days  ?  no,  the  past  is  never  merrv)— about 
the  days  when  we  were  young ;  and  do  we  grow  young  in  talk- 
ing of  them,  or  only  indulge  in  a  senile  cheerfulness  and  pro- 
lixity ? 

Tregarvan  sleeps  with  his  Cornish  fathers :  Europe  for  many 
years  has  gone  on  without  her  Review  ;  but  it  is  a  certainty  that 
the  establishment  of  that  occult  organ  of  opinion  tended  very 
much  to  benefit  Philip  Firmin,  and  helped  for  a  while  to  supply 
him  and  several  innocent  people  dependent  on  him  with  their 
daily  bread.  Of  course,  as  they  were  so  poor,  this  worthy  family 
increased  and  multiplied ;  and  as  they  increased,  and  as  they 
multiplied,  my  wife  insists  that  I  should  point  out  how  support 
was  found  for  them.  When  there  was  a  second  child  in  Philip's 
nursery  he  would  have  removed  from  his  lodgings  in  Thornhau<*h 
street  but  for  .the  prayers  and  commands  of  the  affectionate 
Little  Sister,  who  insisted  that  there  was  plenty  of  room  in  the 
house  for  everybody,  and  who  said  that  if  Philip  went  away  she 
would  cut  off  her  little  godchild  with  a  shilling.  And  then  indeed 
it  was  discovered,  for  the  first  time,  that  this  faithful  and  affec- 
tionate creature  had  endowed  Philip  with  all  her  little  property. 
These  are  the  rays  of  sunshine  in  the  dungeon.  These  are  the 
drops  of  water  in  the  desert.  And  with  a  full  heart  our  friend 
acknowledges  how  comfort  came  to  him  in  his  hour  of  need. 

Though  Mr.  Firmin  has  a  very  grateful  heart,  it  has  been  ad- 
mitted that  he  was  a  loud  disagreeable  Firmin  at  times,  impetu- 
ous in  his  talk  and  violent  in  his  behavior  :  and  we  are  now  come 
to  that  period  of  bis  history  when  he  had  a  quarrel,  in  which  I 
am  sorry  to  say  Mr.  Philip  was  in  the  wrong.  Why  do  we  con- 
sort with  those  whom  we  dislike  ?  Why  is  it  that  men  will  try 
and  associate  between  whom  no  love  is?  I  think  it  was  the 
ladies  who  tried  to  reconcile  Philip  and  his  master;  who  brought 
them  together,  and  strove  to  make  them  friends;  but  the  more 
they  met  the  more  they  disliked  each  other;  and  now  the  Muse 
lias  to  relate  their  final  and  irreconcilable  rupture. 

Of  Mu^ford's  wrath  the  direful  tale  relate,  O  Muse !  and 
Philip's  pitiable  fate.    I  have  shown  how  the  men  had  long  been 


39b'  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

inwardly  envenomed  one  against  another.  "Because  Firmin  is 
as  poor  as  a  rat,  that's  no  reason  why  he  should  adopt  that  haw- 
haw  manner,  and  them  high  and  mighty  airs  toward  a  man  who 
gives  him  the  bread  he  eats,"  Mugford  argued  not  unjustly. 
"  What  do  /  care  for  his  being  a  university  man  V  I  am  as  good 
as  he  is.  I  am  better  than  his  old  scamp  of  a  father,  who  was  a 
college  man  too,  and  lived  in  fine  company.  I  made  my  own 
way  in  the  world,  independent,  and  supported  myself  since  I 
was  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  helped  my  mother  and  brothers 
too,  and  that 's  more  than  my  sub-editor  can  say,  who  can't  sup- 
port himself  yet.  I  could  get  fifty  sub-editors  as  good  as  he  is, 
by  calling  out  of  window  into  the  street,  I  could.  I  say,  hang 
Firmin  !  I  'm  a  losing  all  patience  with  him."  On  the  other  hand, 
Mr.  Philip  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking  his  mind  with  equal 
candor.  "  What  right  has  that  person  to  call  me  Firmin  V"  he 
asked.  "  I  am  Firmin  to  my  equals  and  friends.  I  am  this  man's 
laborer  at  four  guineas  a  week.  I  give  him  his  money's  worth, 
and  on  every  Saturday  evening  we  are  quits.  Call  me  Philip 
indeed,  and  strike  me  in  the  side.  I  choke,  sir,  as  I  think  of  the 
confounded  familiarity !"  "  Confound  his  impudence  !"  was  the 
cry,  and  the  not  unjust  cry  of  the  laborer  and  his  employer.  The 
men  should  have  been  kept  apart :  and  it  was  a  most  mistaken 
Christian  charity  and  female  conspiracy  which  brought  them 
together.  "  Another  invitation  from  Mugford.  It  was  agreed 
that  I  was  never  to  go  again,  and  I  won't  go,"  said  Philip  to  his 
meek  wife.     "  Write  and  s*y  we  are  engaged,  Charlotte." 

"  It  is  for  the  18th  of  next  month,  and  this  is  the  23d,"  said 
poor  Charlotte.  "  We  can't  well  say  that  we  are  engaged  so 
far  off." 

"  It  is  for  one  of  his  grand  ceremony  parties,"  urged  the  Little 
Sister.  "  You  can't  come  to  no  quarrelling  there.  He  has  a  good 
heart.  So  have  you.  There 's  no  good  quarrelling  with  him.  Oh, 
Philip,  do  forgive,  and  be  friends  !"  Philip  yielded  to  the  remon- 
strances of  the  women,  as  we  all  do ;  and  a  letter  was  sent  to 
Hampstead  announcing  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  P.  F.  would  have  the 
honor  of,  etc. 

In  his  quality  of  newspaper  proprietor,  musical  professors  and 
opera  singers  paid  much  court  to  Mr.  Mugford  ;  and  he  liked  to 
entertain  them  at  his  hospitable  table ;  to  brag  about  his  wines, 
cookery,  plate,  garden,  prosperity,  and  private  virtue,  during 
dinner,  while  the  artists  sate  respectfully  listening  to  him ;  and 
to  go  to  sleep  and  snore,  or  wake  up  and  join  cheerfully  in  a  cho- 
rus when  the  professional  people  performed  in  the  drawing  room. 
Now,  there  was  a  lady  who  was  once  known  on  the  theatre  by  the 
name  of  Mrs.  Ravenswing,  and  who  had  been  forced  on  to  the 
stage  by  the  misconduct  of  her  husbaud,  a  certain  Walker,  one 
of  the  greatest  scamps  who  ever  entered  a  jail.  On  Walker's 
death  this  lady  married  a  Mr.  Woolsey,  a  wealthy  tailor,  who 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  399 

retired  from  his  business,  as  he  caused  his  wife  to  withdraw  from 
hers. 

Now,  more  worthy  and  honorable  people  do  not  live  than 
Woolsey  and  his  wife,  as  those  know  who  were  acquainted  with 
their  history.  Mrs.  Woolsey  is  loud.  Her  It's  are  by  no  means 
where  they  should  be  ;  her  knife  at  dinuer  is  often  where  it  should 
not  be.  She  calls  men  aloud  by  their  names,  and  without  any 
prefix  of  courtesy.  She  is  very  fond  of  porter,  and  has  no  scru- 
ple in  asking  for  it.  She  sits  down  to  play  the  piano  and  to  sing 
with  perfect  good-nature,  ami  if  you  look  at  her  hands  as  they 
wander  over  the  keys — well,  I  don't  wish  to  say  anything  unkind, 
but  I  am  forced  to  own  that  those  hands  are  not  so  white  as  the 
ivory  which  they  thump.  Woolsey  sits  in  perfect  raptur3  listen- 
ing to  his  wife.  Mugford  presses  her  to  take  a  glass  of"  some- 
think  "  afterward ;  and  the  good-natured  soul  says  she  will  take 
something  'ot.  She  sits  and  listens  with  infinite  patience  and 
good-humor  while  the  little  Mugfords  go  through  their  horrible 
little  musical  exercises ;  and  these  over,  she  is  ready  to  go  back 
to  the  piano  again,  and  sing  more  songs,  and  drink  more  'ot. 

I  do  not  say  that  this  was  an  elegant  woman,  or  a  fitting  com- 
panion for  Mrs.  Philip  ;  but  I  know  that  Mrs.  Woolsey  was  a 
good,  clever,  and  kindly  woman,  and  that  Philip  behaved  rudely 
to  her.  He  never  meant  to  be  rule  4o  her,  he  said;  but  the 
truth  is,  he  treated  her,  her  husband,  Mugford,  and  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford,  with  a  haughty  ill-humor  which  utterly  exasperated  and 
perplexed  them. 

About  this  poor  lady,  who  was  modest  and  innocent  as  Susan- 
nah, Philip  had  heard  some  wicked  elders  at  wicked  clubs  tell 
wicked  stories  in  old  times.  There  was  that  old  Trail,  for  in- 
stance ;  what  woman  escaped  from  his  sneers  and  slander  ? 
There  were  others  who  could  be  named,  and  whose  testimony 
was  equally  untruthful.  On  an  ordinary  occasion  Philip  would 
never  have  cared  or  squabbled  about  a  question  of  precedence, 
and  would  have  taken  any  place  assigned  to  him  at  any  table, 
But  when  Mrs.  Woolsey,  in  crumpled  satins  and  blowsy  lace, 
made  her  appearance,  and  was  eagerly  and  respectfully  saluted 
by  the  host  and  hostess,  Philip  remembered  those  early  stories 
about  the  poor  lady  ;  his  eyes  flashed  wrath,  and  his  breast  beat 
with  an  indignation  which  almost  choked  him.  Ask  that  woman 
to  meet  my  wife  ?  he  thought  to  himself,  and  looked  so  ferocious 
and  desperate  that  the  timid  little  wife  gazed  with  alarm  at  her 
Philip,  and  crept  up  to  him  and  whispered,  u  What  is  it,  dear  V" 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Mugford  and  Mrs.  Woolsey  were  in  full  col- 
loquy about  the  weather,  the  nursery,  and  so  forth — and  Wool- 
sey and  Mugford  giving  each  other  the  hearty  grasp  of  friend- 
ship. Philip,  then,  scowling  at  the  newly-arrived  guests,  turn- 
ing, his  great  hulking  back  upon  the  company  and  calking  to  his 
wife,  presented  a  not  agreeable  figure  to  his  entertainer. 

"  Hang  the  fellow's  pride  !"  thought  Mugford.     "  He  chooses 


400  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHIL11- 

to  turn  his  back  upon  my  company  because  Wookey  was  a 
tradesman.  An  honest  tailor  is  better  than  a  bankrupt,  swin- 
dling doctor,  1  should  think.  Woolsey  need  not  be  ashamed  to 
show  his  face,  1  suppose.  Why  did  you  make  me  ask  that  fellar 
again,  Mrs.  M.  ?  Don't  you  see,  our  society  ain't  good  enough 
for  him  ?" 

rhilip's  conduct,  then,  so  irritated  Mugford,  that  when  dinner 
was  announced  he  stepped  forward  and  offered  his  arm  to  Mrs. 
Woolsey  ;  having  intended  in  the  first  instance  to  conrtr  that 
honor  upon  Charlotte.  "  I  '11  show  him,"  thought  Mugford,  "  that 
an  honest  trademan's  lady  who  pay6  his  way,. and  is  not  afraid 
of  anybody,  is  better  than  my  sub-editor's  wife,  the  daughter  of 
a  bankrupt  swell."  Though  the  dinner  was  illuminated  by  Mug- 
foi\-'s  grandest  plate,  and  accompanied  by  his  very  best  wine,  it 
was  a  gloomy  and  weary  repast  to  several  people  present,  and 
Philip  and  Charlotte,  and  I  dare  say  Mugford,  thought  it  never 
would  be  done.  Mrs.  Woolsey,  to  be  sure,  placidly  ate  her  din- 
ner, and  drank  her  wine  ;  while,  remembering  these  wicked 
legends  against  her,  Philip  sate  before  the  poor  unconscious 
lady,  silent,  with  glaring  eyes,  indolent  and  odious;  so  much  so, 
that  Mrs.  Woolsey  imparted  to  Mrs.  Mugford  her  surmise  that 
the  tall  gentleman  must  have  got  out  of  bed  the  wrong  leg 
foremost. 

Well,  Mrs.  Woolsey's  carriage  and  Mr.  Firmin's  cab  were 
announced  at  the  same  moment;  and  immediately  Philip  started 
up  a*nd  beckoned  his  wife  away.  But  Mrs.  Woolsey's  carriage 
and  lamps  of  course  had  the  precedence  ;  and  this  laely  Mr.  Mug- 
ford accompanied  to  her  carriage  step. 

He  did  not  pay  the  same  attention  to  Mrs.  Firmin.  Most 
likely  he  forgot.  Possibly  he  did  not  think  etiquette  required  he 
should  show  that  sort  of  politeness  to  a  sub-editor's  wife :  at  any 
rate,  he  was  not  so  rude  as  Philip  himself  had  been  during  the 
evening,  but  he  stood  in  the  hall  looking  at  his  guests  departing 
in  their  cab,  when,  in  a  sudden  gust  of  passion,  Philip  stepped 
out  of  the  carriage,  and  stalked  up  to  his  host,  who  siood  there 
in  his  own  hall  confronting  him,  Philip  declared,  with  a  most 
impudent  smile  on  his  face. 

"  Come  back  to  light  a  pipe,  I  suppose  ?  Nice  thing  for  your 
wife,  ain't  it?"  said  Mugfoid,  relishing  his  own  joke. 

"I  am  come  back,  sir,"  said  Philip,  glaring  at  Mugford,  "to 
ask  how  you  dared  invite  Mrs.  Philip  Firmin  to  meet  that 
woman  r* 

Here,  on  his  side,  Mr.  Mugford  lost  his  temper,  and  from  this 
moment  Ms  wrong  begins.  When  he  was  in  a  passion,  the  lan- 
guage used  by  Mr.  Mugford  was  not,  it  appears,  choice.  We 
have  heard  that  when  angry  he  was  in  the  habit  of  swearing 
freely  at  his  subordinates.  He  broke  out  on  this  occasion  also 
with  many  oaths.  He  told  Philip  that  he  -would  stand  his  im- 
pudence no  longer;  that  he  was  as  good  as  a  swindling  doctors- 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH   THK    WORLD.  401 

son  ;  that  though  he  had  n't  been  to  college,  he  could  buy  and 
pay  them  as  had;*and  that  if  Philip  liked  to  come  into  the 
back-yard  for  ten  minutes  he  'd  give  him  one — two,  and  show 
him  whether  he  was  a  man  or  not.  Poor  Char,  who,  indeed, 
fancied  that  her  husband  had  gone  back  to  light  his  cigar,  sat 
a  while  unconscious  in  her  cab,  and  supposed  that  the  two  gen- 
tlemen were  engaged  on  newspaper  business.  When  Mugford 
began  to  pull  his  coat  oil',  she  sit  wondering,  but  not  in  the 
least  understanding  the  meaning  of  the  action.  Philip  had 
described  his  employer  as  walking  about  his  office  without  a 
coat  ajid  using  energetic  language. 

But  when,  attracted  by  the  loudness  of  the  talk,  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford  came  forth  from  her  neighboring  drawing-room,  accom- 
panied  by  such  of  her  children  as  had  not  yet  gone  to  roost — 
when  seeing  Mugford  pulling  oft"  his  dress-coat,  she  began  To 
scream — when,  lifting  his  voice  over  hers,  Mugford  poured  forth 
oaths,  and  frantically  shook  his  fists  at  Philip,  asking  how  that 
blackguard  dared  insult  him  in  his  own  house,  and  proposing  to 
knock  his  head  off  at  that  moment — then  poor  Char,  in  a  wild 
alarm,  sprang  out  of  the  cab,  ran  to  her  husband,  whose  whole 
frame  was  throbbing,  whos^  nostrils  were  snorting  with  passion. 
Then  Mrs.  Mugford,  springing  forward,  placed  her  ample  form 
before  her  husband's,  and  calling  Philip  a  great  cowardly  beast, 
asked  him  if  he,  was  going  to  attack  that  little  old  man  ?  Then 
Mugford  dashing  his  coat  down  to  the  ground,  called  with  fresh 
oaths  to  Philip  to  come  on.  And,  in  fine,  there  was  a  most 
unpleasant  row, occasioned  by  Mr.  Philip  Firmin's  hot  temper. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

RE8      AN  G.U  HTA     DOMI, 

To  reconcile  these  two  men  was  impossible  after  such  a  quar- 
rel as  that  described  in  the  last  chapter.  The  only  chance  of 
peace  was  to  keep  the  two  men  apart.  If  they  met  they  would 
fly  at  each  other.  Mugford  always  persisted  that  he  could  have 
got  the  better  of  his  great  hulking  sub-editor,  who  did  not  know 
the  use  of  his  fists.  Jn  Mugford 's  youthful  time  bruising  was  a 
fashionable  art,  and  the  old  gentleman  still  believed  in  his  own 
skill  and  -prowess.  "  Don't  uA\  me,"  be  would  say;  "  though 
the  fellar  is  as  big  as  a  life-guardsman,  I  would  have  doubled 
him  up  in  two  minutes."  1  am  very  glad,  lor  poor  Charlotte's 
sake  and  his  own,  that  Philip  did  not  undergo  the  doubling-up 
process.  He  himself  felt  such  a  wrath  and  surprise  at  his  em- 
ployer as,  I  suppose,  a  lion  does  when  a  little  dog  attacks  him. 
1  should  not  like  to  be  that  little  dog,  nor  does  my* modest  and 
peaceful  nature  at  all  prompt  and  'impel  me  to  combat  with 
lions. 


402  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

It  was  mighty  well  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  had  shown  his  spirit 
and  quarrelled  with  his  bread-and-butter;  tout  when  Saturday 
came  what  philanthropist  would  hand  four  sovereigns  and  four 
shillings  over  to  Mr.  F.,  as  Mr.  Burjoyee,  the  publisher  of  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette,  had  been  accustomed  to  do  ?  I  will  say  for 
my  friend  that  a  still  keener  remorse  than  that  which  he  felt 
about  money  thrown  away  attended  him  when  he  found  that 
Mrs.  Woolsey,  toward  whom  he  had  east  a  sidelong  stone  of 
persecution,  was  a  most  respectable  and  honorable  lady.  "  I 
should  like  to  go,  sir,  and  grovel  before  her,"  Philip  said,  in  his 
energetic  way.  "  If  I  see  that  tailor,  I  will  request  him  to  put 
his  foot  on  my  head  anif  trample  on  me  with  his  highlows.  Oh, 
for  shame  !  for  shame  !  Shall  I  never  learn  charity  toward  my 
neighbors,  and  always  go  on  believing  in  the  lies  which  people 
tell  me?  When  I  meet  that  scoundrel  Trail  at  the  club  I  must 
chastise  him.  How  dared  he  take  away  the  reputation  of  an 
honest  woman  ?"  Philip's  friends  besought  him,  for  the  sake  of 
society  and  peace,  not  to  carry  this  quarrel  farther.  "  If,"  we 
said,  "  every  woman  whom  Trail  has  maligned  had  a  champion 
who  should  box  Trail's  ears  at  the  club,  what  a  vulgar,  quarrel- 
some place  that  club  would  become !  My  dear  Philip,  did  you 
ever  know.  Mr.  Trail  say  a  good  word  of  man  or  woman  V"  and 
by  these  or  similar  entreaties  and  arguments  we  succeeded  in 
keeping  the  Queen's  peace. 

Yes;  but  how  find  another  Pall. Mall  Gazette?  Had  Philip 
possessed  seven  thousand  pounds  in  the  three  per  cents.,  his 
income  would  have  been  no  greater  than  that  which  he  drew 
from  Mugford's  faithful  bank.  Ah!  how  wonderful  ways  and 
means  are  !  When  I  think  Imw  this  very  line,  this  very  word, 
which  I  am  writing  represents  money,  I  am  lost  in  a  respectful 
astonishment.  A  man  takes  his  own  case,  as  he  says  his  own 
prayers,  on  behalf  of  himself  and  his  family.  I  am  paid,  we  will 
say,  for  the  sake  of  illustration,  at  the  rate  of  sixpence  per  line. 
With  the  words  "Ab,  how  wonderful,"  to  the  words  "  per  line," 
I  can  buy  a  loaf,  a  piece  of  butter,  a  jug  of  milk,  a  modicum  of 
tea — actually  enough  to  ma]ie  breakfast  for  the  family  ;  and  the 
servants  of  the  house  ;  and  the  char-woman,  their  servant,  can 
shake  up  the  tea-leaves"  with  a  fresh  supply  of  water,  sop  the 
crusts,  and  get  a  meal,  tant  lien  que  mal.  Wife,  children,  guests, 
servants,  char-woman,  we  arc  all  actually  making  a  meal  off 
Philip  JFirrnin's  bones  as  it  were.  And  my  next-door  neighbor, 
whom  I  see  spinning  away  to  chambers,  umbrella  in  hand  ? 
And  next  door  but  one  the  city  man  ?  And  next  door  but  two 
the  doctor  ! — I  know  the  baker  has  left  loaves  at  every  one  of 
their  doors  this  morning,  that  all  their  chimneys  are  smoking, 
and  they  will  all  have  breakfast.  Ah,  thank  God  for  it !  I 
hope,  friend,  you  and  I  are  not  too  proud  to  ask  for  our  daily 
bread,  and  to  be  gratefill  for  getting  it  ?  Mr.  Philip  had  to 
work  for  his,  in  care  and  trouble,  like  other  children  of  men  : 


Ox\    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  403 

to  work  for  it,  and  I  hope  to  pray  for  it  too.  It  is  a  thought  to 
me  awful  and  beautiful,  that  of  the  daily  prayer,  and  of  the 
myriads  pf  fel low-men  uttering  it,  in  eare  and  in  sickness,  in 
doubt  and  fh  poverty,  in  health  and  in  wealth.  Partem  nostrum 
da  nobis  liodie.  Philip  whispers  it  by  the  bedside  where  wife 
and  child  lie  sleeping,  and  goes  to  his  early  labor  with  a  stouter 
heart :  as  he  creeps  to  his  rest  when  the  day's  labor  is  over,  an  I 
the  quotidian  bread  is  earned,  and  breathes  his  hushed  thank3 
to  the  bountiful  Giver  of  the  meal.  All  over  this  world  what 
an  endless  chorus  is  singing  of  love,  and  thanks,  and  prayer! 
Day  tells  to  day  the  woudrous  story,  and  night  recounts  it  into 
night.  How  do  I  come  to  ^^hinlc  of  a  sunrise  which  I  saw  near 
twenty  years  ago  on  the  Nile,  when  the  river  and  sky  flushed 
and  glowed  with  the  dawning  light,  and  as  the  luminary  ap- 
peared the  boatmen  knelt  on  the  rosy  deck  and  adored  Allah  ? 
So,  as  thy  sun  rises,  friend,  over  the  humble  housetops  round 
about  your  home,  shall  you  wake  many  and  many  a  day  to  duty 
and  labor.  May  the  task  have  been  honestly  done  when  the 
night  comes,  and  the  steward  deal  kindly  with  the  laborer! 

So  two  of  Philip's  cables  .cracked  and  gave  way  after  a  very 
brief  strain,  and  the  poor  fellow  held  by  nothing  now  but  that 
wonderful  European  Review  established  by  the  mysterious  Tre- 
garvan.  Actors,  a  people  of  superstitions  and  traditions,  opine 
that  heaven,  in  some  mysterious  way,  makes  managers  for  their 
benefit.  In  like  manner,  Review  proprietors  are  sent  to  provide 
the  pabulum  for  us  men  of  letters.  With  what  complacency 
did  my  wife  listen  to  the  somewhat  long-winded  and  pompous 
oratory  of  Tregarvan  !  He  pompous  and  commonplace  ?  Mr. 
Tregarvan  spoke  with  excellent  good  sense.  That  wily  woman 
never  showed  she  was  tired  of  his  conversation.  She  praised 
him  to  Philip  behind  his  back,  and  would  not  allow  a  word  in 
his  disparagement.  As  a  doctor  will  punch  your  chest,  your 
liver,  your  heart,  listen  at  your  lungs,  squeeze  your  pulse,  and 
what  not,  so  this  wily  woman  studied,  shampooed,  auscultated 
Tregarvan.  Of  course  he  allowed  himself  to  be  operated  upon. 
Of  course  he  had  no  idea  that  the  lady  was  flattering,  wheed- 
ling, humbujjsing  him  ;  but  thought  that  he  was  a  very  well- 
informed,  eloquent  man,  who  had  seen  and  read  a  great  deal, 
and  had  an  agreeable  method  of  imparting  his  knowledge,  and 
that  the  lady  in  question  was  a  sensible  woman,  naturally  eager 
for  more  information.  Go,  Delilah  !  I  understand  your  tricks  ! 
I  know  many  another  Omphale  in  London  who  will  coax  Her- 
cules away  from  his  club  to  come  and  listen  to  her  wheedling  talk. 

One  great  difficulty  we  had  was  to  make  Philip  read  Tregar- 
van's  own  articles  in  the  Revieio. .  He  at  first  said  he  could  not, 
or  that  he  could  not  remember  them  ;  so  that  there  was  no  use 
in  reading  them.  And  Philip's  new  master  used  to  make  artful 
allusions  to  his  own  writings  in  the  course  of  conversation,  so 
that  our  unwary  friend  would  find  himself  under  examination  in 


404  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

any  casual  interview  with  Tregarvan,  whose  opinions  on  free- 
trade,  malt-tax,  income-tax,  designs  of  Russia,  or  what  not, 
might  be  accepted  or  denied,  but  ought  at  least  to  b/i  known. 
We  actually  made  Philip  get  up  his  owner's  article.  We  put 
questions  to  him  privily  regarding  them — "coached"  him,  ac- 
cording to  the  university  phrase.  My  wife  humbugged  that 
wretched  member  of  Parliament  in  a  way  which  makes  me 
shudder  when  I  think  of  what  hypocrisy  the  sex  is  capable. 
Those  arts  and  dissimulations  with  which  she  wheedles  others  ; 
suppose  she  exercised  them  on  me?  Horrible  thought!  No, 
angel  !  To  others  thou  mayest  be  a  coaxing  hypocrite  ;  to  me 
thou  art  all  candor.  Other  men  may  have  been  humbugged  by 
other  women ;  but  I  am  not  to  be  taken  in  by  that  sort  of  thing ; 
and  thou  art  all  jandor ! 

We  bad  then  so  much  per  annum  as  editor.  We  were  paid, 
besides,  for  our  articles.  We  had  really  a  snug  little  pension 
out  of  this  Review,  and  we  prayed  it  might  last  for  ever.  We 
might  write  a  novel.  We  might  contribute  articles  to  a  daily 
paper ;  get  a  little  parliamentary  practice  as  a  barrister.  We 
actually  did  get  Philip  into  a  railway  case  or  two,  and  my  wife 
must  be  coaxing  and  hugging  solicitors'  ladies,  as  she  had  whee- 
dled and  coaxed  members  of  Parliament.  Why,  I  do  believe 
my  Delilah  set  up  a  flirtation  with  old  Bishop  Crossticks,  with 
an  idea  Ql  getting  her  prote'ge'  a  living  ;  and  though  the  lady 
indignantly  repudiates  this  charge,  will  she  be  pleased  to  explain 
how  the  bishop's  sermons  were  so  outrageously  praised  in  the 
Review  ? 

Philip's  roughness  and  frankness  did  not  displease  Tregarvan, 
to  the  wonder  of  us  all,  who  trembled  lest  he  should  lose  this,  as 
he  had  lost  his  former  place.  Mr.  Tregarvan  had  more  country- 
houses  than  one,  and  at  these  not  only  was  the  editor  of  the 
Review  made  welcome,  but  the  editor's  wife  and  children,  whom 
Tregarvan's  wife  took  in  especial  regard.  In  London  Lady  Mary 
had  assemblies,  where  our  little  friend  Charlotte  made  her 
appearance ;  and  half  a  dozen  times  in  the  course  of  the  season 
the  wealthy  Cornish  gentleman  feasted  his  retainers  of  the 
Review.  His  wine  was  excellent  and  old  ;  his  jokes  were  old  too ; 
his  table  pompous,  grave,  plentiful.  If  Philip  was  to  eat  the 
bread  of  dependence,  the  loaf  was  here  very  kindly  prepared  for 
him,  and  he  ate  it  humbly  and  with  not  too  much  grumbling. 
This  diet  chokes  some  proud  stomachs  and  disagrees  with  them; 
but  Philip  was  very  humble  now,  and  of  a  nature  grateful  for 
kindness.  He  is  one  who  recfuires  the  help  of  friends,  and  can 
accept  benefits  without  losing  independence — not  all  men's  gifts, 
but  some  men's,  whom  he  repays  not  only  with  coin  but  with  an 
immense  affection  and  gratitude.  How  that  man  did  laugh  at 
my  witticisms!  How  he  worshipped  the  ground  on  which  my  wife 
walked  !  He  elected  himself  our  champion.  He  quarrelled  with 
other  people  who  found  fault  with  our  characters  or  would  not  see 


ON    HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  405 

our  perfections.  There  was  something  affecting  in  the  way  in 
which  this  big  man  took  the  humble  place.  We  could  do  no 
wrong  in  his  eyes ;  and  woe  betide  the  man  who  spoke  dispar- 
agingly of  us  in  his  presence  1 

One  day,  at  his  patron's  table,  Philip  exercised  his  valor  and 
championship  in  our  behalf  by  defending  us  against  the  evil- 
speaking  of  that  Mr.  Trail,  who  has  been  mentioned  before  as  a 
gentleman  difficult  to  please  and  credulous  of  ill  regarding  his 
neighbor.  The  talk  happened  to  fall  upon  the  character  of  the 
reader's  most  humble  servant,  and  Trail,  as  raav  be  imagined, 
spared  me  no  more  than  the  rest  of  mankind.  Would  you  like 
to  be  liked  by  all  people  ?  That  would  be  a  reason  why  Trail 
should  hate  you.  Were  you  an  angel  fresh  dropped  from  the 
skies  he  would  espy  dirt  on  your  robe,  and  a  black  feather  or 
two  in  your  wing.  As  for  me,  I  know  I  am  not  angelical  at  all  ; 
and  in  walking  my  native  earth  can't,  help  a  little  mud  on  my 
trousers.  Well :  Mr.  Trail  began  to  paint  my  portrait,  laying  on 
those  dark  shadows  which  that  well-known  master  is  in  the  habit 
of  employing  I  was  a  parasite  of  the  nobility  ;  I  was  a  heartless 
sycophant,  house-breaker,  drunkard,  munUrer,  returned  convict, 
etc.,  etc.  With  a  little  imagination  Mrs.  Candor  can  fill  up  the 
outline,  and  arrange  the  colors  so  as  to  suit  her  amiable  fancy. 

Philip  had  come  late  to  dinner — of  this  fault,  I  must  confess,  he 
is  guilty  only  too  often.  The  company  were  at  table  ;  he  took 
the  only  place  vacant,  and  this  happened  to  be  at  the  side  of  Mr. 
Trail.  On  Trail's  other  side  was  a  portly  individual,  of  a  healt\y 
and  rosy  countenance  and  voluminous  white  waistcoat,  to  whom 
Trail  directed  much  of  his  amiable  talk,  and  whom  he  addressed 
once  or  twice  as  Sir  John.  Once  or  twice  already  we  have  seen 
how  Philip  ha?  quarrelled  at  table.  He  cried  mca  culpa  loudly 
and  honestly  enough.  He  made  vows  of  reform  in  this  par- 
ticular. He  succeeded,  dearly  beloved  brethren,  not  much 
worse  or  better  than  you  or  1  do,  who  confess  our  faults,  and  go 
on  promising  to  improve,  and  stumbling  and  picking  ourselves 
up  everyday.  The  pavement  of  life  is  strewn  with  orange-peel, 
and  who  has  not  slipped  on  the  flags  ? 

"  He  is  the  most  conceited  man  in  London,"  Trail  was  going 
on,  "  and  one  of  the  most  worldly.  He  will  throw  over  a  colonel 
to  dine  with  a  general.  He  would  n't.  throw  over  you  two  baron- 
ets— he  is  a  great  deal  too  shrewd  a  fellow  for  that.  He  would 
not  give  you  up,  perhaps,  to  dine  with  a  lord,  but  any  ordinary 
baronet  he  would." 

"  And  why  not  us  as  well  as  the  rest?"  asks  Trevar^an,  who 
seemed  amused  at  the  speaker's  chatter. 

"  Because  you  are  not  like  common  baronets  at  all.  Because 
your  estates  are  a  great  deal  too  large.  Because,  1  suppose,  you 
might,  either  of  you  go  to  the  Upper  House  any  day.  Because,  as 
an  juithor,  he  may  be  supposed  to  be  afraid  of  a  certain  Review*' 
cries  Trail,  with  a  loud  laugh. 


406  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"  Trail  is  speaking  of  a  friend  of  yours,"  cried  Sir  John,  nod- 
ding and  smiling  to  the  new-comer. 

"  Very  lucky  for  my  friend,"  growls  Philip,  and  eats  his  soup 
in  silence. 

"  By  the  way,  that  article  of  his  on  Madame  de  Sevigne'  is 
poor  stuff.  No  knowledge  of  the  period.  Three  gross  blunders 
in  French.  A  man  can't  write  of  French  society  unless  he  has 
lived  in  French  society.  What  does  Pendennis  know  of  it  ?  A 
man  who  makes  blunders  like  those  can't  understand  French.  A 
man  who  can't  speak  French  can't  get  on  in  French  society. 
Therefore  he  can't  write  about  French  society.  All  these  prop- 
ositions are  clear  enough.  Thank  you.  Dry  champagne,  if  you 
please.  He  is  enormously  overrated,  I  tell  you;  and  so  is  his 
wife.  They  used  to  put  her  forward  as  a  beauty ;  and  she  is  only 
a  dowdy  woman  out  of  a  nursery.     She  has  no  style  about  her." 

"  She  is  only  one  of  the  best  women  in  the  world,"  Mr.  Firmin 
called  out,  turning  very  red,  and  hereupon  entered  into  a  defence 
of  our  characters,  and  pronounced  an  eulogium  upon  both  and 
each  of  us,  in  which  I  hope  there  was  some  little  truth.  However, 
he  spoke  with  great  enthusiasm,  and  Mr.  Trail  found  himself  in 
a  minority. 

"  You  are  right  to  stand  up  for  your  friends,  Firmin !"  cried 
the  host.     "  Let  me  introduce  you  to — " 

"  Let  me  introduce  myself,"  said  the  gentleman  on  the  other 
side  of  Mr.  Trail.  "  Mr.  Firmin,  you  and  I  are  kinsmen — I  am 
Sir  John  Ringwood."  And  Sir  John  reached  a  hand  to  Philip 
across  Trail's  chair.  They  talked  a  great  deal  together  in  the 
course  of  the  evening ;  and  when  Mr.  Trail  found  that  the  great 
northern  baronet  was  friendly  and  familiar  with  Philip,  and 
claimed  relationship  with  him,  his  manner  toward  Firmin  altered. 
He  pronounced  afterward  a  warm  eulogy  upon  Sir  John  for  his 
frankness  and  good-nature  in  recognizing  his  unfortunate  rela- 
tive, and  charitably  said,  "  Philip  might  not  be  like  the  doctor, 
and  could  not  help  having  a  rogue  for  a  father."  In  former 
days  Trail  had  eaten  and  drunken  freely  at  that  rogue's  table. 
But  we  must  have  truth,  you  know,  before  all  things;  and  if 
your  own  brother  has  committed  a  sin,  common  justice  requires 
that  you  should  stone  bim. 

In  former  days,  and  not  long  after  Lord  Ringwood's  death, 
Philip  had  left  his  card  at  this  kinsman's  door,  and  Sir  John's 
butler,  driving  in  bis  master's  brougham,  had  left  a  card  upon 
Philip,  who  was  not  over  well  pleased  by  this  acknowledgment 
of  his  civility,  and,  in  fact,  employed  abusive  epithets  when  he 
spoke  of  the  transaction.  But  when  the  two  gentlemen  actually 
met,  their  intercourse  was  kindly  and  pleasant  enough.  Sir 
John  listened  to  his  relative's  talk — and  it  appears  Philip  com- 
ported himself  with  his  usual  free  and  easy  manner — with  inter- 
est and  curiosity ;  and  owned  afterward  that  evil  tongues  had 
previously  been  busy  with  the  young  man's  character,  and  that 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD. 


407 


slander  and  untruth  had  been  spoken  regarding  him.  In  this 
respect,  if  Philip  is  worse  off  than  his  neighbors,  I  can  only 
say  his  neighbors  are  fortunate. 

Two  days  after  the  meeting  of  the  cousins,  the  tranquillity  of 
Thornhaugh  street  was  disturbed  by  the  appearance  of  a  mag- 
nificent yellow  chariot,  with  crests,  hammer-cloths,  a  bewigged 
coachman,  and  a  powdered  footman.  Betsy,  the  nurse,  "who 
was  going  to  take  baby  out  for  a  walk,  encountered  this  giant 
on  the  threshold  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  door,  and  a  lady  within  the 
chariot  delivered  three  cards  to  the  tall  menial,  who  transferred 
them  to  Betsy.  And  Betsy  persisted  in  saying  that  the  lady  in 
the  carriage  admired  baby  very  much,  and  asked  its  age,  at 
which  baby's  mamma  was  not  in  the  least  surprised.  In  due 
course  an  invitation  to  dinner  followed,  and  our  friends  became 
acquainted  with  their  kinsfolk. 

If  you  have  a  good  memory  for  pedigrees — and  in  my  youth- 
ful time  every  man  de  fa.nne  maison  studied  genealogies,  and 
had  his  English  families  in  his  memory — you  know  that  this  Sir 
John  Ringwood,  who  succeeded  to  the  principal  portion  of  the 
estates,  but  not  to  .the  titles  of  the  late  earl,  was  descended  from 
a  mutual  ancestor,  a  Sir  John,  whose  elder  son  was  ennobled 
(temp.  Geo.  I),  while  thf  second  son,  following  the  legal  profes- 
sion, became  a  judge,  and  had  a  son,  who  became  a  baronet,  and 
who  begat  that  present  Sir  John  who  has  just  been  shaking 
hands  with  Philip  across  Trail's  back.*    Thus  the  two  men  were 


*  Copied,  by  permission  of  P.  Firmin,  Esq.,  from  the  Genealogical  Tree  in  his 
possession. 

Sir  J.  Ringwood,  Cart., 

of  Wing.ato  and  Whipham. 

b. 1649;  ob.  1725. 


Sir  J..  Bart., 

1st  Baron  Ringwood. 

ob.  1770. 


John,  2d  Baron, 

created  Earl  of  Ringwood 

and  Visct.  Cinqbars. 

I 
Charles,  Visct.  Cinqbars, 
b.  1802;  ob. 1824. 


Philip, 

a  Colonel  in  the  Array 
ob. 1808. 


Sir  Philip.  Knt., 
a  Baron  of  the  Exchequer. 


Sir  John.  Bart., 
of  the  Hays. 


Sir  John  of  the  Hays, 

and  now  of 

Wing-ate  and  Whipham, 

has  issue. 


Maria, 
b.  1801, 
md.  Talbot  Twysden, 
and  had  wane. 


Louisa, 
b.  1802. 
md.  G.  B.  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D. 


Philip,  b.   iS2f>, 

aubjeel  of  the 
present  Memoir. 


Oliver.  Ircton, 

Hampden,  Franklin, 

and  daughters. 


408  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILTP 

cousins;  and  in  right  of  the  heiress,  his  poor  mother,  Philip 
might  quarter  the  Ringwood  arms  on  his  carriage  whenever  he 
drove  out.  These,  you  know,  are  argent,  a  dexter  sinople  on  a 
fesse  wavy  of  the  first — or  pick  out,  my  dear  friend,  any  coat 
you  like  out  of  the  whole  heraldic  wardrobe,  and  accommodate 
it  to  our  friend  Firmin. 

When  he  was  a  young  man  at  college  Philip  had  dabbled  a 
little  in  this  queer  science  of  heraldry,  and  used  to  try  and  be- 
lieve the  legends  about  his  ancestry  which  his  fond  mother  im- 
parted to  him.  He  had  a  great  book-plate  made  for  himself, 
with  a  prodigious  number  of  quarterings,  and  could  recite  the 
alliances  by  which  such  and  such  a  quartering  came  into  his 
shield.  His  father  rather  confirmed  these  histories,  and  spoke 
of  them  and  of  his  wife's  noble  family  with  much  respect:  and 
Philip,  artlessly  whispering  to  a  vulgar  boy  at  school  that  he 
was  descended  from  King  John,  was  thrashed  very  unkindly  by 
the  vulgar  upper  boy,  and  nicknamed  King  John  for  many  a 
long  day  after. '  I  dare  say  many  other  gentlemen  who  profess 
to  trace  their  descent  from  ancient  kings  have  no  better  or 
worse  authority  for  their  pedigree  than  friend  Philip. 

When  our  friend  paid  his  second  visit  to  Sir  John  Ringwood 
he  was  introduced  to  his  kinsman's  library.  A  great  family- 
tree  hung  over  the  mantle-piece,  surrounded  by  a  whole  gallery 
of  defunct  Ringwoods,  of  whom  the  baronet  was  now  the  repre- 
sentative. He  quoted  to  Philip  the  hack-neyed  old  Horatian 
lines  (some  score  of  years  ago  a  great  deal  of  that  old  coin  was 
current  in  conversation).  As  for  family,  he  said,  and  ancestors, 
and  what  we  have  not  done  ourselves,  these  things  we  can  hard- 
ly call  ours  !  Sir  John  gave  Philip  to  understand  that  he  was 
a  stanch  liberal.  Sir  John  had  fired  a  shot  from  the  Paris  bar- 
ricades. Sir  John  was  for  the  rights  of  man  everywhere  all 
over  the  world.  He  had  pictures  of  Franklin,  Lafayette, 
Washington,  aud  the  First  Consul  Bonaparte  on  his  walls  along 
with  his  ancestors.  He  had  lithograph  copies  of  Magna  Charta, 
the  Declaration  of  American  Independence,  and  the  Signatures 
to  the  Death  of  Charles  f.  He  did  not  scruple  to  own  his  pref- 
erence for  republican  institutions.  He  wished  to  know  what 
right  had  any  man — the  late  Lord  Ringwood,  for  example — to 
sit  in  a  hereditary  House  of  Peers  and  legislate  over  him?  That 
lord  had  had  a  son,  Cinqbars,  who  died  many  years  before,  a 
victim  of  his  own  follies  and  debaucheries.  Had  Lord  Cinqbars 
survived  his  father,  he  would  now  be  sitting  an  earl  in  the 
House  of  Peers — the  most  ignorant  young  man,  the  most  un- 
principled young  man,  reckless,  dissolute,  of  the  feeblest  intel- 
lect and  the  worst  life.  Well,  had  he  lived  and  inherited  the 
Ringwood  property,  that  creature  would  have  been  an  earl ; 
whereas  he,  Sir  John,  bis  superior  in  morals,  in  character,  in 
intellect,  his  equal  in  point  of  birth  (for  had  they  not  both  a 


Pi:  /J 


PAT  BR  FA  Ml  LI  AS. 


6N  his  way  through  the  world.  409 

common  ancestor?)  was  Sir  John  still.  The  inequalities  in 
men's  chances  in  life  were  monstrous  and  ridiculous.  He  was 
determined,  henceforth,  to  look  at  a  man  for  himself  alone,  and 
not  esteem  him  for  any  of  the  absurd  caprices  of  fortune. 

As  the  republican  was  talking  to  his  relative  a  servant  came 
into  the  room  and  whispered  to  his  master  that  the  plumber  had 
come  with  his  bill  as  by  appointment ;  upon  which  Sir  John  rose 
up  in  a  fury,  asked  the  servant  how  he  dared  to  disturb  him,  and 
bade  him  tell  the  plumber  to  go  to  the  lowest  depths  of  Tartarus. 
Nothing  could  equal  the  insolence  and  rapacity  of  tradesmen, 
Tie  said,  except  the  insolence  and  idleness  of  servants  ;  and  he 
called  this  one  back,  and  asked  him  how  he  dared  to  leave  the 
fire,  in  that  state  ? — stormed  and  raged  at  him  with  a  volubility 
which  asionished    his  new  acquaintance;  and,  the   man  being 
gone,  resumed  his  previous  subject  of  conversation,  viz.,  natural 
equality    and    the   outrageous'  injustice    of    the   present   social 
system.      After  talking   for  half  an  hour,  during  which  1  hihp 
found  that  he  himself  could  hardly  find  an  opportunity  of  utter- 
in<r  a  word,  Sir  John  took  out  his  watch  and  got  up  from  his  chair ; 
at  which  hint  Philip  too  rose,  not  sorry  to  bring  the  interview  to 
an  end.     And  herewith  Sir  John  accompanied  his  kinsman  into 
the  hall,  and  to  the  street-door,  before  which  the  baronet's  groom 
was  siding,  leading  his  master's  horse.     And  Philip  hoard  the 
baronet  using  violent  language  to  the  groom,  as  he  had  done  to 
the  servant  within  doors/    Why,  the  army  in  Flanders  did  not 
swear  more  terribly  than  this  admirer  of  republican  institutions 
and  advocate  of  the  rights  of  man.  . 

Philip  was  not  allowed  to  go  away  without  appointing  a  rtay 
when  he  and  his  wife  would  partake  of  their  kinsman's  hospitality. 
On  this  occasion  Mrs.  Bhilip  comported  herself  with  so  much 
grace  and  simplicity  that  Sir  John  and  Lady  Rmgwood  pro- 
nounced  her  to  be  a  very  pleasing  and  lady-like  person   ana  1 
dare  sav  wondered  how  a  person  in  her  rank  of  life  could  have 
acquired  manners  that  were  so  refined  and  agreeable,     liaay 
llincrwood  asked  after  the  child  which  she  had  seen,  praised  its 
beauty  :  of  course,  won  the  mother's  heart,  and  thereby  caused 
her  to  sneak  with  perhaps  more  freedom  than  she  would  other- 
■    wise  have  felt  at  a  first  interview.     Mrs.  Philip  has  a  dainty 
touch  on  the  piano,  and  a  sweet  singing  voice  that  is  charmingly 
true  and  neat.     She  performed  after  dinner  some  of  the  songs 
of  her  little  repertoire,  and  pleased  her  audience.     Lady   King- 
wood  loved  good  music,  and  was  herself  a  fine  perlormer  of  the 
ancient  school,  when  she  played  Haydn  and  Mf  art  under  the 
tuition  of  good  old  Sir  George  Thrum.     The  tall  and  handsome 
beneficed  clergyman  who  acted  as  major-domo  ot   Sir  Johns 
establishment  placed  a  parcel  in  the  carriage  when  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Philip  took  their  leave,  and  announced  with  much  respect- 
'  ful  deference   that    the  cab  was   paid.     Our  inend,  Jio  doubt 


410  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

would  have  preferred  to  dispense  with  this  ceremony  ;  but  it  is 
ill  looking  even  a  gift  cab-horse  in  the  mouth,  and  so  Philip  was 
a  gainer  of  some  two  shillings  by  his  kinsman's  liberality. 

When  Charlotte  came  to  open  the  parcel  which  major-domo, 
with  his  lady's  compliments,  had  placed  in  the  cab,  I  fear  she 
did  not  exhibit  that  elation  which  we  ought  to  feel  for  the  favors 
of  our  friends.  A  couple  of  little  frocks,  of  the  cut  of  George 
IV,  some  little  red  shoes  of  the  same  period,  some  crumpled 
sashes,  and  other  small  articles  of  wearing  apparel,  by  her  lady- 
ship's order  by  her  ladyship's  lady's-maid  ;  and  Lady  Ringwood 
kissing  Charlotte  at  her  departure,  told  her  that  she  had  caused 
this  little  packet  to  be  put  away  for  her  "  H'm,"  says  Philip, 
only  half-pleased.  "  Suppose  Sir  John  had  told  his  butler  to 
put  up  one  of  his  blue  coats  and  brass  buttons  for  me,  as  well  as 
pay  the  cab  V" 

"  If  it  was  meant  in  kindness,  Philip,  we  must  not  be  angry," 
pleaded  Philip's  wife  ;  u  and  I  am  sure  if  you  had  heard  her  and 
the  Miss  Ringwoods  speak  of  baby  you  would  like  them,  as  I 
intend  to  do." 

But  Mrs.  Philip  never  put  those  mouldy  old  red  shoes  upon 
baby  ;  and  as  for  the  little  frocks,  children's  frocks  are  made'so 
much  fuller  now  that  Lady  Ringwood's  presents  did  not  answer 
at  all.  Charlotte  managed  to  furbish  up  a  sash,  and  a  pair  of 
epaulets  for  her  child — epaulets  are  they  called  ?  Shoulder- 
knots — what  you  will,  ladies ;  and  with  these  ornaments  Miss 
Firmin  was  presented  to  Lady  Ringwood  and  some  of  her  family. 

The  good-will  of  these  new-found  relatives  of  Philip's  was 
laborious,  was  evident,  and  yet  I  must  say  was  not  altogether 
agreeable.  At  the  first  period  of  their  intercourse — for  this  too, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  came  to  an  end,  or  presently  sufFered  inter- 
ruption—  tokens  of  aflfection  in  the  shape  of  farm  produce, 
country  butter  and  poultry,  and  actual  butcher's  meat,  came  from 
Berkeley  square  to  Thornhaugh  street.  The  Duke  of  Double- 
glo'ster,  I  know,  is  much  richer  than  you  are ;  but  if  he  were  to 
offer  to  make  you  a  present  of  half-a-crown,  I  doubt  whether 
you  would  be  quite  pleased.  And  so  with  Philip  and  his  relatives. 
A  hamper  brought  in  the  brougham,  containing  hothouse  grapes 
and  country  butter,  is  very  well,  but  a  leg  of  mutton  I  own  was 
a  gift  that  was  rather  tough  to  swallow.  It  tvas  tough.  That 
point  we  ascertained  and  established  among  roars  of  laughter 
one  day  when  we  dined  with  our  friends.  Did  Lady  Ringwood 
send  a  sack  of  turnips  in  the  brougham  too?  In  a  word,  we  ate 
Sir  John's  mutton,  and  we  laughed  at  him,  and  be  sure  many  a 
man  has  done  the  same  by  you  and  me.  Last  Friday,  for  in- 
stance, as  Jones  and  Brown  go  away  after  dining  with  your  hum- 
ble servant :  "  Did  you  ever  see  such  profusion  and  extrava- 
gance?" asks  Brown.  -'Profusion  and  extravagance!"  cries 
Jones,  that  well-known  epicure.     "  I  never  saw  anything  so 


ON   HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE   WORLD.  411 

shabby  in  my  life.  What  does  the  fellow  mean  by  asking  me  to 
such  a  dinner  ?"  "  True,"  says  the  other,  "  it  was  an  abomina- 
ble dinner,  Jones,  as  you  justly  say;  but  it  was  very  profuse  in 
him  to  give  it.  Don't  you  see  V"  and  so  both  our  good  friends  are 
agreed. 

Ere  many  days  were  over  the  great  yellow  chariot  and  its 
powdered  attendants  again  made  their  appearance  before  Mrs. 
Brandon's  modest  door  in  Thornhaugh  street,  and  Lady  Ring- 
wood  and  two  daughters  descended  from  the  carriage  and  made 
their  way  to  Mr.  Philip's  apartments  in  the  second  floor,  just  as 
that  worthy  gentleman  was  sitting  down  to  dinner  with  his  wife. 
Lady  Ringwood,  bent  upon  being  gracious,  was  in  ecstacies  with 
everything  she  saw — a  clean  house — a  nice  little  maid — pretty 
picturesque  rooms — odd  rooms — and  what  charming  pictures  ! 
Several  of  these  were  the  work  of  the  fond  pencil  of*  poor  J.  J., 
who,  as  has  been  told,  had  painted  Philip's  beard  and  Charlotte's 
eyebrow,  and  Charlotte's  baby  a  thousand  a*nd  a  thousand  times. 
"  May  we  come  in  ?  Are  we  disturbing  you  ?  What  dear  little 
bits  of  china !  What  a  beautiful  mug,  Mr.  Firmin  !"  This  was 
poor  J.  J.'s  present  to  his  goddaughter.  "  How  nice  the  lunch- 
eon looks!  Dinner,  is  it?  How  pleasant  to  dine  at  this  hour!" 
The  ladies  were  determined  to  be  charmed  with  everything  round 
about  them. 

"  We  are  dining  on  your  poultry.  May  we  offer  some  to  you 
and  Mi.-\s  Ringwood  ?"  says  the  master  of  the  house. 

"  Why  don't  you  dine  in  the  dining-room  ?  Why  do  you  dine 
in  a  bedroom  ?"  asks  Franklin  Ringwood,  the  interesting  young 
son  of  the  Baronet  of  Ringwood. 

"  Somebody  else  lives  in  the  parlor,"  says  Mrs.  Philip.  On 
which  the  boy  remarks,  "  We  have  two  dining-rooms  in  Berkeley 
square.  I  mean  for  us,  besides  papa's  study,  which  I  must  n't  go 
into.     And  the  servants  have  two  dining-rooms,  and — " 

"  Hush  !  Here,"  cries  mamma,  with  the  usual  remark  regard- 
ing the  beauty  of  silence  in  little  boys. 

But  Franklin  persists  in  spite  of  the  "  Hushes;"  "  And  so  we 
have  at  Ringwood ;  and  at  Whipham  there  's  ever  so  many  dining- 
rooms — ever  so  many — and  I  like  Whipham  a  great  deal  better 
than  Ringwood,  because  my  pony  is  at  Whipham.  You  have 
not  got  a  pony.     You  are  too  poor." 

"  Franklin  1" 

"  You  said  he  was  too  poor ;  and  y6u  would  not  have  had 
chickens  if  we  had  not  given  them  to  you.  Mamma,  you  know 
you  said  they  were  very  poor,  and  would  like  them." 

And  here  mamma  looked  red,  and  1  dare  say  Philip's  cheeks 
and  ears  tingled,  and  for  once  Mrs.  Philip  was  thankful  at  hear- 
ing her  baby  cry,  for  it  gave  her  a  pretext  for  leaving  the.  room 
and  flying  to  the  nursery,  whither  the  other  two  ladies  accom- 
panied her. 


412  THE   ADVENTURE8    OF   PHILIP 

Meanwhile  Master  Franklin  went  on  with  his  artless  conver- 
sation. "Mr.  Philip,  why  do  they  say  you  are  wicked?  You 
do  not  look  wicked  ;  and  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Philip  does  not  look 
wicked — she  looks  yery  good." 

"  Who  says  I  am  wicked  ?"  asks  Mr.  Firinin  of  his  candid 
young  relative. 

"  Oh,  ever  so  many !  Cousin  Talbot  says  so;  and  Blanche  says  so; 
and  Woolcomb  says  so ;  only  I  don't  like  him,  he  's  so  very  brown. 
And  when  they  heard  you  had  been  to  dinner,  *  Has  that  beast 
been  here  ?'  Talbot  says.  And  I  don't  like  him  a  bit.  But  I  like 
you — at  least  I  think  I  do.  You  only  have  oranges  for  dessert. 
We  always  have  lots  of  things  for  dessert  at  hon.e.  You  don't, 
I  suppose,  because  you  've  got  no  money — only  a' very  little." 

"  Well :  I  have  got  only  a  very  little/'  says  Philip. 

"  I  have  some — ever  so  much.  And  I  '11  buy  something  for 
your  wife;  and  I  shall  like  to  have  you  better  at  home  than 
Blanche,  and  Talbot,  and  that  Woolcomb ;  and  they  never  give 
me  anything.  You  canft,  you  know,  because  you  are  so  very 
poor — you  are  ;  but  we  '11  often  send  you  things,  I  dare  say.  And 
I  '11  have  an  orange,  please — thank  you.  And  there  's  a  chap  at 
our  school,  and  his  name  is  Suckling,  and  he  ate  eighteen  oranges, 
and  would  n't  give  one  away  to  anybody.  Was  n't  he  a  greedy 
pig  ?  And  I  have  wine  with  my  oranges — I  do  :  a  glass  of  wine 
—thank  you.  That 's  jolly.  But  you  don't  have  it  often,  I  sup- 
pose, because  you  're  so  very  poor." 

I  am  glad  that  infant  could  not  understand,  being  yet  of  too 
tender  age,  the  compliments  which  Lady  Pungwood"  and  her 
daughter  passed  upon  her.  As  it  was,  the  compliments  charmed 
the  mother,  for  whom  indeed  they  were  intended,  and  did  not 
inflame  the  unconscious  baby's  vanity. 

u  What  would  the  polite  mamma  and  sister  have  said,  if  they 
had  heard  that  unlucky  Franklin's  prattle?"  The  boy's  sim- 
plicity amused  his  tall  cousin.  "  Yes,"  says  Philip,  "we  are  very 
poor,  but  we  are  very  happy,  and  don't  mind— that 's  the  truth." 

"  Mademoiselle,  that 's  the  German  governess,  said  she  won- 
dered how  you  could  live  at  all ;  and  I  don't  think  you  could  if 
you  ate  as  much  as  she  did.  You  should  see  her  eat ;  she  is  such 
a  oner  at  eating.  Fred,  my  brother,  that  's  the  one  who  is  at 
college,  one  day  tried  to  see  how  much  Mademoiselle  Wallfirch 
could  eat,  and  she  had  twice  of  soup„  and  then  she  said  sivoplay, 
and  then  twice  of  fish,  and  she  said  sivoplay  for  more ;  and  then 
she  had  roast  mutton— no, -I  think  roast  beef  it  was  ;  and  she  eats 
the  pease  with  her  knife,  and  then  she  had  raspberry  jam  pud- 
ding, and  ever  so  much  beer,  and  then—"  But  what  came  then 
we  never  shall  know  ;  because  while  young  Franklin  was  choking 
with  laughter  (accompanied  with  a  large  piece  of  orange)  at  the 
ridiculous  recollection  of  Miss  WallfireL's  appetite,  his  mamma 
and  sister  came  down  stairs  from  Charlotte's  nursery,  and  brought 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  413 

the  dear  boy's  conversation  to  an  end.  The  ladies  chose  to  go 
home,  delighted  with  Philip,  baby,  Charlotte.  Everything  was 
so  proper.  Everything  was  so  nice  ;  Mrs..  Firmin  was  so  lady-like. 
The  fine  ladies  watched  her  and  her  behavior  with  that  curiosity 
which  the  Brobdingnag  ladies  displayed  when  they  held  up  little 
Gulliver  on  their  palms,  and  saw  him  bow,  smile,  dance,  draw 
his  sword,  and  so  forth,  just  like  a  man. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

IN    WHICH    PHILIP   WEARS    A    WIG. 

We  can  not  expect  to  be  loved  by  a  relative  whom  we  have 
knocked  into  an  illuminated  pond,  and  whose  coat-tails,  panta- 
loons, nether  limbs,  and  best  feelings  we  have  lacerated  with  ill- 
treatment  and  broken  glass.  A  man  whom  you  have  so  treated 
behind  his  back  will  not -be  sparing  of  his  punishment  behind 
yours.  Of  course  all  the  Twysdcns,  male  and  female,  and  Wool- 
comb,  the  dusky  husband  of  Philip's  former  love,  hated  and  feared 
and  maligned  him ;  and  were  in  the  habit  of  speaking  of  him  as 
a  truculent  and  reckless  savage  ancl  monster,  coarse  and  brutal 
in  his  language  and  behavior,  ragged,  dirty,  asd  reckless  in  his 
personal  appearance  ;  reeking  with  smoke,  perpetually  reeling 
in  drink,  indulging  in  oaths,  actions,  laughter,  which  rendered 
him  intolerable  in  civilized  society.  The  Twysdens,  during 
Philip's  absence  abroad,  had  been  very  respectful  and  assiduous 
in  courting  the  new  head  of  the  Ringwood  family.  They  had 
nattered  Sir  John,  and  paid  court  to  my  lady.  They  had  been 
welcomed  at  Sir  John's  houses  in  town  and  country.  They  had 
adopted  his  politics  in  a  great  measure,  as  they  had  adopted  the 
politics  of  the  deceased  Ringwood.  They  had  never  lost  an  op- 
portunity of  abusing  poor  Philip  and  of  ingratiating  themselves. 
They  had  never  7'efused  any  invitation  from  Sir  John  in  town  or 
country,  and  had  ended  by  utterly  boring  him  and  Lady  Ring- 
wood  and  the  Ringwood  family  in  general.  Lady  Ringwood 
learned  somewhere  how  pitilessly  Mrs.  Woolcomb  had  jilted  her 
cousin  when  a  richer  suitor  appeared  in  the  person  of  the  West 
Indian.  Then  news  came  how  Philip  had  administered  a  beat- 
ing to  Woolcomb,  to  Talbot  Twysden,  to*  a  dozen  who  set  on  hi  in. 
The  early  prejudices  began  to  pass  away.  A  friend  or  two  of 
Philips  told  Ringwood  how  he  was  mistaken  in  the  young  man, 
and  painted  a  portrait,  of  him  in  colors  much  more  favorable  than 
those  which  his  kinsfolk  employed.  Indeed,  dear  relations,  it' the 
public  wants  to  know  our  little  faults  and  errors,  I  think  I  know 
who  will  not  grudge,  the  requisite  information.  Dear  Aunt  Can- 
dor, are  you  not  still  alive,  and  don't  you  know  what  we  had  for 
dinner  yesterday,  and  the  amount,  (monstrous  extravagance  1)  of 
the  washer-woman's  bill?- 


414  THE   ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

Well,  the  Twysden  family  so  bespattered  poor  Philip  with 
abuse,  and  represented  him  as' a  monster  of  such  hideous  mien, 
that  no  wonder  the  Ringwoods  avoided  him.  Then  they  began 
to  grow  utterly  sick  and  tired  of  his  detractors.  And  then  Sir 
John,  happening  to  talk  with  his  brother  member  of  Parliament, 
Tregarvan,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  heard  quite  a  different 
story  regarding  our  friend  to  that  with  which  the  Twysdens  had 
regaled  him ;  and  with  no  little  surprise  on  Sir  John's  part  was 
told  by  Tregarvan  how  honest,  rough,  worthy,  affectionate,  and 
gentle  this  poor  maligned  fellow  was;  how  he  had  been  sinned 
against  by  his  wretch  of  a  father,  whom  he  had  forgiven  and 
actually  helped  out  of  his  wretched  means;  and  how  he  was  mak- 
ing a  brave  battle  against  poverty,  and  had  a  sweet  little  loving 
wife  and  child,  whom  every  kind  heart  would  willingly  strive  to 
help.  Because  people  are  rich  they  are  not  of  necessity  ogres. 
Because  they  are  born  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  good  degree,  are 
in  easy  circumstances,  and  have  a  generous  education,  it  does  not 
follow  that  they  are  heartless,  and  will  turn  their  back  on  a  friend. 
Moi  qui  vous  parte — I  have  been  in  a  great  strait  of  sickness  near 
to  death,  and  the  friends  who  Aurce  to  help  me  with  every  com- 
fort, succor,  sympathy  were  actually  gentlemen,  who  lived  in 
good  houses,  who  had  a  good  education.  They  did  n't  turn  away 
because  I  was  sick,  or  fly  from  me  because  they  thought  I  was 
poor ;  on  the  contrary,  hand,  purse,  succor,  sympathy  were  ready 
— and  praise  be  to  heaven.  And  so  too  did  Philip  find  help  when 
he  needed  it,  and  succor  when  he  was  in  poverty.  Tregarvan, 
we  will  own,  was  a  pompous  little  man,  his  House  of  Commons 
speeches  were  dull,  and  his  written  documents  awfully  slow ;  but 
he  had  a  kind  heart :  he  was  touched  by  that  picture  which  Laura 
drew  of  the  young  man's  poverty,  and  honesty,  and  simple  hope- 
fulness in  the  midst  of  hard  times:  and  we  have  seen  how  the 
European  Preview  was  thus  intrusted  to  Mr.  Philip's  manage- 
ment Then  some  artful  friends- of  Philip's  determined  that  he 
should  be  reconciled  to  his  relations,  who  were  well-to-do  in  the 
world,  and  might  ^erve  him.  And  I  wish,  dear  reader,  that  your 
respectable  relatives  and  mine  would  bear  this  little  paragraph 
in  mind,  and  leave  us  both. handsome  legacies.  Then  Tregarvan 
spoke  to  Sir  John  Ringwodd,  and  that  meeting  was  brought  about, 
where,  for  once  at  least,  Mr.  Philip  quarrelled  with  nobody. 

And  now  came  another  little  piece  of  good  luck,  which,  I 
suppose,  must  be  attributed  to  the  same  kind  friend  who  had 
been  scheming  for  Philip's  benefit,  and  who  is  never  so  happy  as 
when  her  little  plots  for  her  friend's  benefit  can  be  made  to 
succeed.  Yes :  when  that  arch-jobber — don't  tell  me — I  never 
knew  a  woman  worth  a  pin  who  was  n't — when  that  arch-jobber, 
I  say,  has  achieved  a  job  by  which  some  friend  is  made  happy, 
her  eyes  and  cheeks  brighten  with  triumph.  Whether  she  has 
got  a  sick  man  into  a  hospital,  or  got  a  poor  woman  a  family's 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  415 

washing,  or  made  a  sinner  repent  and  return  to  wife,  husband, 
or  what  not,  that  woman  goes  off  and  pays  her  thanks,  where 
thanks  are  due,  with  sucli  fervor,  with  such  lightsomeness,  with 
such  happiness,  that  I  assure  you  she  is  a  sight  to  behold.  Hush  ! 
When  one  sinner  is  saved,  who  are  glad  V  Some  of  us  know  a 
woman  or  two  pure  as  angels — know,  and  are  thankful. 

When  the  person  about  whom  I  have  been  prattling  has  one 
of  her  benevolent  jobs  in  hand,  or  has  completed  it,  there  is  a 
sart  of  triumph  and  mischief  in  her  manner,  which  T  don't  know 
otherwise  how  to  describe.  She  does  not  understand  my  best 
jokes  at  this  period,  or  answer  them  at  random,  or  laugh  very 
absurdly  and  vacantly.  She  embraces  her  children  wildly,  andn 
at  the  most  absurd  moments,  is  utterly  unmindful  when  they  are 
saying  their  lessons,  prattling  their  little  questions,  and  so  forth. 
I  recall  all  these  symptoms  (and  put  this  and  that  together,  as 
the  saying  is)  as  happening  on  one  especial  day,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  Easter  term,  eighteen  hundred  and  never  mind 
what — as  happening  on  one  especial  morning  when  this  lady  had 
been  astoundingly  distraite  and  curiously  excited.  I  now  remem- 
ber how,  during  her  children's  dinner-time,  she  sat  looking  into 
the  square  out  of  our  window,  and  scarcely  attending  to  the  little 
innocent  cries  for  mutton  which  the  children  were  offering  up. 

At  last  there  was  a  rapid  clank  over  the  pavement,  a  tall 
figure  passed  the  parlor  windows,  which  our  kind  friends  know 
look  into  Queen  square,  and  then  came  a  loud  ring  at  the  bell, 
and  I  thought  the  mistress  of  the  house  .gave  an  ah — a  sigh — as 
though  her  heart  was  relieved. 

v  The  street-door  was  presently  opened,  and  then  the  dining- 
room  door,  and  Philip  walks  in  with  his  hat  on,  his  blue  eyes 
staring  before  him,  his  hair  flaming  about,  and  "La,  Uncle 
Philip  !"  cry  the  children.  "  What  have  you  done  to  yourself? 
You  have  shaved  off  your  mustache."     And  so  he  had,  I  declare ! 

"  I  say,  Pen,  look  here  !  This  has  been  left  at  chambers ;  and 
Cassidy  has  sent  it  on  by  his  clerk,"  our  friend  said.  I  forget 
whether  it  has  been  stated  that  Philip's  name  still  remained  on 
the  door  of  those  chambers  in  Parchment  buildings  where  we 
once  heard  his  song  of  "  Dr.  Luther,"  and  were  present  at  his 
call-supper. 

The  document  which  Philip  produced  was  actually  a  brief. 
jiThe  papers  were  superscribed,  "  Jn  Parliament,  Polwheedle  and 
Tredyddlum  Railway.  To  support  bill,  Mr.  Firmin ;  retainer, 
five  guineas;  brief,  fifty  guineas;  consultation,  five  guineas. 
With  you  Mr.  Armstrong,  Sir  J.  Whitworth,  Mr.  Pinkerton." 
Here  was  a  wonder  of  wonders!  A  shower  of  gold  was  poured 
out  on  my  friend.  A  light  dawned  upon  me.  The  proposed 
bill  was  for  a  Cornish  line.  Our  friend,  Tregarvan,  was  con- 
cerned in  it,  the  line  passing  through  his  property,  and  my  wife 
had  canvassed  him  privately,  and  by  her  wheedling  and  blandish- 


416  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

ments  had  persuaded   Trcgarvan  to  use  his  interest  with  the 
agents  and  get  Philip  this  welcome  aid. 

Philip  eyed  the  paper  with  a  queer  expression.  He  handled 
it  as  some  men  handle  a  baby.  He  looked  as  if  he  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  it,  and  as  if  he  should  like  to  drop  it.  I  believe 
I  made  some  satirical  remark  to  this  effect. as  I  looked  at  our 
friend  with  his  paper. 

"  He  holds  a  child  beautifully,"  said  my  wife,  with  much 
enthusiasm  ;  "  much  better  than  some  people  who  laugh  at  him." 

"And  he  will  hold  this,  no  doubt,  much  to  his  credit.  May 
this  be  the  father  of  many  briefs !  May  you  have  bags  full  of 
them !"  Philip  had  all  our  good  wishes.  They  did  not  cost 
much,  or  avail  much,  but  they  were  sincere.  I  know  men  who 
can't  for  the  lives  of  them  give  even  that  cheap  coin  of  gond-will, 
but  hate  their  neighbors'  prosperity,  and  are  angry  with  them 
wh«n  they  cease  to  be  dependent  and*  poor. 

We  have  said  how  Cassidy's  astonished  clerk  had  brought  the 
brief  from  chambers  to  Firmin  at  his  lodgings  at  Mrs.  Brandon's 
in  Thornhaugh  street.  Had  a  bailiff  served  him  with  a  writ 
Philip  could  not  have  been  more  surprised  or  in  a  greater  tremor. 
A  brief?  Grands  Dieux !  What  was  he  to  do  with  a  brief? 
He  thought  of  going  to  brd,  and  being  ill — of  flying  from  home, 
country,  family.  Brief?  Charlotte,  of  course,  seeing  her  hus- 
band alarmed,  began  to  quake  loo.  Indeed,  if  his  worship's 
finger  aches,  does  not  her  whole  body  suffer?  But  Charlotte's 
and  Philip's  constant  friend,  the  Little  Sister,  felt  no  such  fear. 
"  Now  there  's  this  opening,  you  must  take  it,  my  dear,"  she  said. 
"  Suppose  you  don't  know  much  about  law — " 

"Much!  Nothing,"  interposed  Philip.  "  You  might  ask  me 
to  play  the  piano;  but  as  I  never  happened  to  have  learned — " 

"  La — don't  tell  me  !  You  must  n't  show  a  faint  heart.  Take 
the  business  and  do  it  best  you  can.  You  '11  do  it  better  next 
time,  and  next.  The  bar  's  a  gentleman's  business.  Don't  I 
attend  a  judge's  lady,  which  I  remember  her  with  her  first  in  a 
little  bit  of  a  house  in  Bernard  street,  Russell  square ;  and  now 
have  n't  1  been  to  her  in  Eaton  square,  with  a  butler  and  two 
footmen,  and  carriages  ever  so  many  ?  You  may  work  on  at 
your  newspapers  and  get  a  crust,  and  when  you  're  old,  and  if 
you  quarrel — and  you  have  a  knack  of  quarrelling — he  has,  Mrs. 
Firmin.  I  knew  him  before  you  did.  Quarrelsome  he  is,  and 
he  will  be,  though  yon  think  him  an  angel,  to  be  sure.  Suppose 
you  quarrel  with  your  newspaper  masters,  and  your  reviews,  and 
that  you  lose  your  place.  A  gentleman  like  Mr,  Philip  ought  n't 
to  have  a  master.  I  could  n't  bear  to  think  of  your  going  down 
of  a  Saturday  to  the  publishing  office  to  get  your  wages  like  a 
workman." 

"  But  I  am  a  workman,"  interposes  Philip. 

"  La !     But  do  you  mean  to  remain  one  for  ever  ?     I  would 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  417 

rise,  if  I  was  a  man  !"  said  the  intrepid  little  woman ;  "  I  would 
rise,  or  I  'd  know  the  reason  why.  Who  knows  how  many  in 
family  you  're  going  to  be  ?  I  M  have  more  spirit  Mian  to  live  in 
a  second  floor — I  would  !" 

And  the  little  woman  said  this,  though  she  clung  round  Philip's 
child  with  a  rapture  of  fondness  which  she  tried  in  vain  to  con- 
ceal ;  though  she  felt  that  to  part  from  it  would  be  to  part  from 
her-life's  chief  happiness;  though  she  loved  Philip  as  her  own 
son:  and  Charlotte — well,  Charlotte  for  Philip's  sake — as  women 
love  other  women. 

Charlotte  came  to  her  friends  in  Queen  square,  and  told  us  of 
the  resolute  Little  Sister's  advice  and  conversation.  She  knew 
that  Mrs.  Brandon  only  loved  her  as  something  belonging  to 
Philip.  She  admired  this  Little  Sister,  and  trusted  her,  and 
could  afford  to  bear  that  little  somewhat  scornful  domination 
which  Brandon  exercised.  "  She  does  not  love  me,  because 
Philip  does,"  Charlotte  said.  "  Do  you  think  I  could  like  her,  or 
any  woman,  if  I  thought  Philip  loved  them?  I  could  kill  them, 
Laura,  that  I  could  1"  And  at  this  sentiment  I  imagine  daggers 
shooting  out  of  a  pair  of  eyes  that  were  ordinarily  very  gentle 
and  bright. 

Not  having  been  engaged  in  the  case  in  which  Philip  had  the 
honor  of  first  appearing,  I  can  not  enter  into  particulars  regard- 
ing it,  but  am  sure  that  case  must  have  been  uncommonly  strong 
in  itself  which  could  survive  such  an  advocate.  He  passed  a 
frightful  night  of  torture  before  appearing  in  committee  room. 
During  that  night,  he  says,  his  hair  grew  gray.  His  old  college 
friend  and  comrade,  Pinkerton,  who  was  with  him  in  the  case, 
"coached"  him  on  the  day  previous*  and  indeed  it  must  be 
owned  that  the  work  which  he  had  to  perform  was  not  of  a  nature 
to  impair  the  inside  or  the  outside  of  his  skull.  A  great  man  was 
his  leader;  his  friend,  Pinkerton,  followed;  and  all  Mr.  Philip's 
business  was  to  examine  half-a-dozen  witnesses  by  questions 
previously  arranged  between  them  and  the  agents. 

When  you  hear  that,  as  a  reward  of  his  services  in  this  case, 
Mr.  Firmin  received  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  to  pay  his  modest 
family  expenses  for  some  four  months,  I  am  sure,  dear  and 
respected  literary  friends,  that  you  will  wish  the  lot  of  a  parliamen- 
tary barrister  had  been  yours,  or  that  your  immortal  works  could 
be  paid  with  such  a  liberality  as  rewards  the  labors  of  these 
lawyers.  u  Nimmer  erscheinen  die  Goiter  allein."  After  one 
agent  had  employed  Philip,  another  came  and  secured  his  valuable 
services;  him  two  or  three  others  followed,  and  our  friend  posi- 
tively had  money  in  bank.  Not  only  were  apprehensions  of 
poverty  removed  for  the  present,  but  we  had  every  n-ason  to 
hope  that  Firmin's  prosperity  would  increase  and  continue.  And 
when  a  little  son  and  heir  was  born,  which  blessing  was  conferred 
upon  Mr.  PhHip  about,  a  vear  after  hip  daughter,  our  godchild," 
36 


418  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

saw  the  light,  we  should  have  thought,  it  shame  to  have  any 
misgivings  about  the  future,  so  cheerful  did  Philip's  prospects 
appear.  "Did  I  not  tell  you,"  said  my  wife,  with  her  usual 
kindling  romance,  "that  comfort  and  succor  would  be  found  tor 
these  in  the  hour  of  their  need?"  Aracti.  We  were  grateful 
that  comfort  and  succor  should  come.  No  one,  J  am  sure,  was 
more  humbly  thankful  than  Philip  himself  for  the  fortunate 
chances  which  befell  him. 

He  was  alarmed  rather  than  elated  by  his  sudden  prosperity. 
M  It  can't  last,"  he  said.  "  Don't  tell  me.  The  attorneys  must 
find  me  out  before  long.  They  can  not  continue  to  give  their 
business  to  such  an  ignoramus ;  and  I  really  think  I  must  remon- 
strate "with  them."  You  should  have  seen  the  Little  Sister's 
indignation  when  Philip  uttered  this  sentiment  in  her  presence. 
"  Give  up  your  business?  Yes,  do!"  she  cried,  tossing  up  Philip's 
youngest  born.  "  Fling  this  baby  out  of  window,  why  not  indeed, 
which  heaven  Las  pent  it  to  you  !  You  ought  to  go  down  oh 
your  knees  and  ask  pardon  for  having  thought  anything  so 
wicked."  Philip's  heir,  by  the  way,  immediately  on  his  entrance 
into  the  world,  had  become  the  prime  favorite  oi  this  unreasoning 
woman.  The  little  daughter  was  passed  over  as  a  little  person 
of  no  account,  and  so  began  to  entertain  the  passion  of  jealousy 
at  almost  the  very  earliest  age  at  which  even  the  female  breast 
is  capable  of  enjoying  it. 

And  though  this  Little  Sister  loved  all  these  people  with  an « 
almost  ferocious  passion  of  love,  and  lay  awake,  1  believe,  hear- 
ing their  infantine  cries,  or  crept  on  stealthy  feet  in  darkness  to 
their  mother's  chamber-door,  behind  which  they  lay  sleeping; 
though  she  bad,  as  it  were,  a  rage  for  these  infants,  and  was 
wretched  out  of  their  sight,  yet,  when  a  third  and  a  fourth  brief 
came  to  Philip,  and  he  was  enabled  to  put  a  little  money  aside, 
nothing  would  content  Mrs.  Brandon  but  that,  he  should  go  into 
a  house  of  his  own.  "A  gentleman,"  she  said,  "  ought  not  to 
Ijve  in  a  two-pair  lodging;  he  ought  to  have  a  house  of  bis  own." 
So,  you  see,  bbe  hastened  on  the  preparations  for  her  own  exe- 
cution. She  trudged  to  the  brokers'  shops  and  made  wonderful 
bargains  of  furniture.  She  cut  chintzes,  and  covered  solas,  and 
sewed,  and  patched,  ?,nd  fitted.  Shefound  a  house  and  took  it — 
Milman  street,  Guildford  street,  opposite  the  Fondling  (as  the 
dear  little  soul  called  it),  a  most  genteel,  quiet  little  street,  "and 
quite  near  for  me  to  come,"  she  said,  "  to  see  my  dears."  Did  she 
speak  with  dry  eyes?  Mine  moisten  sometimes  when  I  think  of 
the  faith,  of  the  generosity,  of  the  sacrifice,  of  that  devoted,  lov- 
ing creature. 

I  am  very  fond  of  Charlotte.  Her  sweetness  and  simplicity 
won  all  our  hearts  at  home.  No  wife  or  mother  ever  was  more 
attached  and  affectionate ;  but  I  own  there  was  a  time  when  I 
hated  her,  though  of  course  that  highly  principled  woman,  the 


ON    HI8    WAY   THROUGH    THE  WORLD.  419 

wife  of  the  author  of  the  present  memoirs,  says  that  the  state- 
ment I  am  making  here  is  stuff  and  nonsense,  not  to  say  immoral 
and  irreligious.  Well,  then,  I  hated  ^Charlotte  for  the  horrible 
eagerness  which  she  showed  in  getting  away  from  this  Little  Sis- 
ter, who  clung  round  those  children,  whose  first  cries  she  had 
heard.  I  hated  Charlotte  for  a  cruel  happiness  which  she  felt  as 
she  hugged  the  children  to  her  heart:  her  own  children  in  their 
own  room,  whom  she  would  dress,  and  watch,  and  wash,  and 
tend  ;  and  for  whom  she  Tinted  no  aid.  No  aid,  entendez  vous  ? 
Oh,  it  was  a  shame,  a  shame"!  In  the  new  house,  in  the  pleas- 
ant little  trim  new  nursery  (fitted  up  by  whose  fond  hands  we 
will  not  say),  is  the  mother  glaring  over  the  cot,  where  the  little, 
soft,  round  cheeks  are  pillowed ;  and  yonder  in  the  rooms  in 
Thornhaugh  street,  where  sh«  has  tended  them  for  two  years, 
the  Little  Sister  sits  lonely  as  the  moonlight  streams  in.  God 
help  thee,  little,  suffering,  faithful  heart !  Never  but  once  in  her 
life  before  had  she  known  so  exquisite  a  pain. 

Of  course  we  had  an  entertainment  in  the  new  house  ;  and 
Philip's  friends,  old  and  new,-  came  to  the  house-warming.  The 
family  coach  of  the  Ringwoods  blocked  up  that  astonished  little 
street.  The  powder  on  their  footmen's  heads  nearly  brushed 
the  ceiling,  as  the  monsters  rose  when  the  guests  passed  in  and 
out  of  the  hall.  The  Little  Sister  merely  took  charge  of  the  tea- 
room. Philip's  "  library''  was  that  usual  little  cupboard  beyond 
the  dining-room.  The  little  drawing-room  was  dreadfully 
crowded  by  an  ex-nursery  piano,  which  the  Ringwoods  bestowed  ' 
upon  their  friends;  and  somebody  was  in  duty  bound  to  play 
upon  it  on  the  evening  of  this  soiree;  though  the  Little  Sister 
chafed  down  stairs  at  the  music.  In  fact,  her  very  words  wore, 
"  Rat  that  piano  I"  She  "  ratted"  the  instrument,  because  the 
music  would  wake  her  little  dears  up  stairs.  And  that  music  did 
wake  them  ;  and  they  howled  melodiously,  and  the  Little  Sister, 
who  was  about  to  serve  Lady  Jane  Tregarvan  with  some  tea, 
dashed  up  stairs  to  the  nursery  :  and  Charlotte  had  reached  the 
room  already  :  and  she  looked  angry  when  the  Little  Sister  came 
in  :  and  she  said,  u  I  am  sure,  Mrs.  Brandon,  the  people  down 
stairs  will  be  wanting  their  tea;"  and  she  spoke  with  some  asper- 
ity. And  Mrs.  Brandon  went  down  stairs  without  one  word  ; 
and  happening  to  be  on  the  landing  conversing  with  a  friend, 
and  a  little  out  of  the  way  of  the  duet  which  the  Miss  Ring- 
woods  were  performing — riding  their  groat  old  horse,  as  it  were, 
and  putting  it  through  its  paces  in  Mrs.  Firmin's  little  paddock  % 
— happening,  I  say,  to  be  on  the  landing  when  Caroline  passed, 
I  took  a  hand  as  cold  as  stone,  and  never  saw  a  look  of  grief 
more  tragic  than  that  worn  by  her  poor  little  face  as  it  passed. 
k>  My  children  cried,"  she  said,  "  and  I  went  up  to  the  misery. 
But  she  don't  want  me  there  now."  Poor  Little  Sister  !  She 
humbled  herself  and  grovelled  before  Charlotte.     You  could  not 


420  THE    ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

help  trampling  upon  her  then,  Madame ;  and  I  hated  you — and 
a  great  number  of  other  women.  Ridley  and  I  went  down  to 
her  tea-room,  where  Carol ifte  resumed  her  place.  She  looked 
very  nice  and  pretty,  with  her^ale  sweet  face,  and  her  neat  cap 
and  blue  ribbon.  Tortures  I  know  she  was  «uffering.  Charlotte 
had  been  stabbing  her.  Women  will  use  the  edge  sometimes, 
and  drive  the  steel  in.  Charlotte  said  to  me,  some  time  after- 
ward, "  I  was  jealous  of  her,  and  you  were  right ;  and  a  dearer, 
more  faithful  creature  never  lived."  But  who  told  Charlotte  I 
said  she  was  jealous  ?  O  treble  bestia  !  I  told  Ridley,  and  Mr. 
Ridley  told  Mrs.  Firmin. 

If  Charlotte  stabbed  Caroline,  Caroline  could  not  help  coming 
back  again  and  again  to  the  knife.  On  Sundays,  when  she  was 
free,  there  was  always  a  place  for  her  at  Philip's  modest  table ; 
,and  when  Mrs.  Philip  went  to  church  Caroline  was  allowed  to 
reign  in  the  nursery.  Sometimes  Charlotte  was  generous  enough 
to  give  Mrs.  Brandon  this  chance.  When  Philip  took  a  house 
— a  whole  house  to  himself — Philip's  mother-in-law  proposed  to 
come  and  stay  with  him,  and  said  that,  wishing  to  be  beholden 
to  no  one,  she  would  pay  for  her  board  and  lodging.  But  Philip 
declined  this  treat,  representing,  justly,  that  his  present  house 
was  no  bigger  than  his  former  lodgings.  "  My  poor  love  is  dying 
to  have  me,"  Mrs.  Baynes  remarked  on  this.  "  But  her  husband 
is  so  cruel  to  her,  and  keeps  her  under  such  terror,  that  she 
dares  not  call  her  life  her  own."  Cruel  to  her !  Charlotte  was 
the  happiest  of  the  happy  in  her  little  house.  In  consequence 
of  his  parliamentary  success  Philip  went  regularly  to  chambers 
now,  in  the  fond  hope  that  more  briefs  might  come.  At  cham- 
bers he  likewise  conducted  the  chief  business  of  his  Review:  and, 
at  the  accustomed  hour  of  his  return,  that  usual  little  procession 
of  mother  and  child  and  nurse  would  be  seen  on  the  watch  for 
him  ;  and  the  young  woman — the  happiest  young  woman  in 
Christendom — would  walk  back  clinging  on  her  husband's  arm. 

All  this  while  letters  came  from  Philip's  dear  father  at  New 
York,  where,  it  appeared,  he  was  engaged  not  only  in  his  pro- 
fession but  in  various  speculations  with  which  he  was  always 
about  to  make  his  fortune.  One  day  Philip  got  a  newspaper 
advertising  a  new  insurance  company,  and  saw,  to  his  astonish- 
ment, the  announcement  of  "  Counsel  in  London,  Philip  Firmin, 
Esq.,  Parchment  Buildings,  Temple."  A  paternal  letter  prom- 
ised Philip  great  fees  out  of  this  insurance  company,  but  I  never 
.heard  that  poor  Philip  was  any  the  richer.  In  fact,  his  friends 
advised  him  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  insurance  company, 
and  to  make  no  allusion  to  it  in  his  letters.  il  They  feared  the 
Danai,  and  the  gifts  they  brought,"  as  old  Firmin  would  have 
said.  They  had  to  impress  upon  Philip  an  abiding  mistrust  of 
that  wily  old  Greek,  his  father.  Firmin  senior  always  wrote 
hopefully  and  magnificently,  and  persisted  in  believing  or  declar- 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  421 

ing  that  ere  very  long  he  should  have  to  announce  to  Philip  that 
his  fortune  was  made.  He  speculated  in  Wall  street,  I  don't 
know  in  what  shares,  inventions,  mines,  railways.  One  dav, 
some  few  months  after  his  miration  to  Milinan  street,  Philips 
blushing  and  hanging  down  his  head,  had  to  tell  me  that  his 
father  had  drawn  upon  him  again.  Had  he  not  paid  up  his 
shares  in  a  certain  mine  they  would  have  been  forfeited,  and  he 
and  his  son  after  him  would  have  lost  a  certain  fortune,  old  Da- 
naus  said.*  I  fear  an  artful,  a  long-bow  pulling  Danaus.  What, 
shall  a  man  have  birth,  wealth,  friends,  high  position,  and  end 
so  that  we  dare  not  le^ve  him  alone  in  the  room  with  our  spoons  ? 
"  And  you  have  paid  this  bill  which  the  old  man  drew  V"  we 
asked.  Yes,  Philip  had  paid  the  bill.  He  vowed  he  would  pay 
no  more.  But  it  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  the  doctor  would 
draw  more  bills  upon  this  accommodating  banker.  "  I  dread 
the  letters  which  begin  with  a  flourish  about  the  fortune  which 
he  is  just  going  to  make,"  Philip  said.  He  knew  that  the  old 
parent  prefaced  his  demands  for  money  in  that  way. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  a  great  medical  discovery  which  he 
had  announced  to  his  correspondent,  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  by 
which  the  doctor  declared,  as  usual,  that  he  was  about  to  make 
a  fortune.  In  New  York  and  Boston  he  had  tried  experiments 
which  had  been  attended  with  the  most  astonishing  success.  A 
remedy  was  discovered,  the  mere  sale  of  which  in  Europe  and 
America  must  bring  an  immense  revenue  to  the  fortunate  invent- 
ors. For  the  ladies  whom  Mrs  Brandon  attended  the  remedy 
was  of  priceless  value.  He  would  send  her  some.  His  friend 
Captain  Morgan,  of  the  Southampton  packet-ship,  would  brin* 
her  some  of  this  astonishing  medicine.  Let  her  try  it.  Let  her 
show  the  accompanying  cases  to  Doctor  Goodenough— to  any  of 
his  brother  physicians  in  London.  Though  himself  an  exile  from 
his  country,  he  loved  it,  and  was  proud  in  being  able  to  confer 
upon  it  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  with  which  science  had  en- 
dowed mankind. 

Goodenough,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  had  such  a  mistrust  of  his 
conjrere  that  he  chose  to  disbelieve  any  statement  Firmin  made 
"  1  don  t  believe,  my  good  Brandon,  the  fellow  has  nous  enough, 
to  light  upon  any  scientific  discovery  more  useful  than  a  new 
sauce  for  cutlets.  He  invent  anything  but  fibs,  never  1"  You  see 
this  Goodenough  is  an  obstinate  old  heathen  ;  and  when  he  has 
once  found  reason  to  mistrust  a  man,  he  for  ever  after  declines  to 
believe  him. 

However,  the  doctor  is  a  man  for  ever  on  the  lookout  for  more 
knowledge  of  his  profession,  and  for  more  remedies  to  benefit 
mankind :  he  hummed  and  ha'd  over  the  pamphlet,  as  the  Little 
feister  sat  watching  him  in  his  study.  He  clapped  it  down  after 
a  while,  and  slapped  his  hands  on  his  little  legs  as  his  wont  is. 
*  Brandon,    he  says,  "I  think  there  is  a  great  deal  in  it,  and  I 


422  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

think  so  the  more  because  it  turns  out  that  Firmin  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  discovery,  which  has  been  made  at  Boston."  In 
fact,  Dr.  Firmin,  late  of  London,  had  only  been  present  in  the 
I  Boston  hospital  where  the  experiments  were  made  with  the  new 
remedy.  He  had  cried  "  Halves,"  and  proposed  to  sell  it  as  a 
secret  remedy,  and  the  bottle  which  he  forwarded  to  our  friend 
the  Little  Sister  was  labelled  "'Firmin's  Anodyne."  What  Fir- 
min did,  indeed,  was  what  ho  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing. 
He  had  taken  another  man's  property,  and  was  endeavoring  to 
make  a  flourish  with  it.  The  Little  Sister  returned  home,  then, 
with  her  bottle  of  chloroform — for  this  .was  what  Dr.  Firmin 
chose  to  call  his  discovery,  and  he  had  sent  home  a  specimen  of 
it;  as  he  sent  home  a  cask  of  petroleum  from  Virginia;  as  he 
sent  proposals  for  new  railways  upon  which  he  promised  Philip 
a  munificent  commission,  if  his  son  could  but  place  the  shares 
among  his  friends. 

And  with  regard  to  these  valuables,  the  sanguine  doctor  got 
to  believe  that  he  really  was  endowing  his  son  with  large  sums 
of  money.  "  My  boy  has  set  up  a  house,  and  has  a  wife  and  two 
children,  the  young  jackanapes  !"  he  would  say  to  people  in  New 
York  ;  "  as  if  he  had  not  been  extravagant  enough  in  former 
days  !  When  I  married  I  had  private  means,  and  married  a 
nobleman's  niece  with  a  large  fortune.  Neither  of  these  two 
young  folks  has  a  penny.  Well,  well,  the  old  father  must  help 
them  as  well  as  he  can  !"  And  I  am  told  there  were  ladies  who 
dropped  the  tear  of  sensibility,  and  said,  "  What  a  fond  father 
this  doctor  is  !  How  he  sacrifices  himself  for  that  scapegrace  of 
a  son  !  Think  of  the  dear  doctor,  at  his  age,  toiling  cheerfully 
for  that  young  man,  who  helped  to  ruin  him  !"  And  Firmin 
sighed  ;  and  passed  a  beautiful  white  handkerchief  over  his  eyes 
with  a  beautiful  white  hand ;  and,  I  believe,  really  cried  ;  and 
thought  himself  quite  a  good,  affectionate,  injured  man.  He 
held  the  plate  at  church  ;  he  looked  very  .handsome  and  tall,  and 
bowed  with  a  charming  melancholy  grace  to  the  ladies  as  they 
put  in  their  contributions.  The  dear  man  !  His  plate  was  fuller 
than  other  people's — so  a  traveller  told  us  who  saw  him  in  New 
York  ;  and  described  a  very  choice  dinner  which  the  doctor  gave 
to  a  few  friends  at  one  of  the  smartest  hotels  just  then  opened. 

With  all  the  Little  Sister's  good  management  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Philip  were  onlv  able  to  install  themselves  in  their  new  house  at 
a  considerable  expense,  and  beyond  that  great  Rtngwood  piano 
which  swaggered  in  Philip's  little  drawing-room,  I  am  constrained 
to  say  that  there  was  scarce  any  furniture  at  all.  One  of  the 
railway  accounts  was  not  paid  as  yet,  and  poor  Philip  could  not 
feed  upon  mere  paper  promises  to  pay.  Nor  was  he  inclined  to 
accept  the  offers  of  private  friends,  who  were  willing  enough  to 
be  his  bankers.  "  One  in  a  family  is  enough  for  that  kind  of 
business,"  he  said,  gloomily:  and  it  came  out  that  again  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  423 

again  tho  interesting  exile  at  New  York,  who  was  deploring  his 
son's  extravagance  ami  foolish  marriage,  had  drawn  bills  upon 
Philip,  which  our  friend  accepted  and  paid — bills,  who  knows  to 
what  amount  ?  He  has  never  told  ;  and  the  engaging  parent 
who  robbed  him — must  I  use  a  wqrd  so  unpolite?— :will  never 
now  tell  to  what  extent  lie  helped  himself  to  Philip's  small  means. 
This  I  know,  that  when  autumn  came — when  September  was 
past — we  in  our  cozy  little  retreat  at  the  sea-side  received  a  let- 
ter from  the  Little  Sister,  in  her  dear  little  bad  spelling  (about 
which  there  used  to  be  somehow  a  pathos  which  the  very  finest 
writing  does  not  possess)— -there  came,  I  say,  a  letter  from  the 
Little  Sister,  in  which  she  told  us,  with  many  dashes,  that  dear 
Mrs.  Philip  and  the  children  were  pining  and  sick  in  London, 
.  and  that  Philip,  he  had  too  much  pride  and  sperit  to  take  nnaey 
from  any  one ;  that  Mr.  Tregarvan  was  away  travelling  on  the 
continent,  and  that  wretch — that  monster,  you  know  who — have 
drawn  upon  Philip  again  for  money,  and  again  he  have  paid, 
and  the  dear,  dear  children  can't  have  fresh  air. 

"  Did  she  tell  you,"  said  Philip,  brushing  his  hands  across  his 
eyes  when  a  friend  came  to  remonstrate  with  him — "did  she 
tell  you  that  she  brought  me  money  herself,  but  we  would  not 
use  it?  Look!  I  have  her  little  marriage-gift  yonder  in  my 
desk,  and  pray  God  I  shall  be  able  to  leave  it  to  my  children. 
The  fact  is,  the  doctor  has  drawn  upon  me,  as  usual ;  he  is  aoing 
to  make  a  fortune  next  week.  I  have  paid  another  bill  of  his. 
The  parliamentary  agents  are  out  of  town,  at  their  moors  in  ' 
Scotland,  I  suppose.  The  air  of  Russell  square  is  uncommonly 
wholesome,  and  when  the  babies  have  had  enough  of  that,  why, 
they  must  change  it  for  Brunswick  square.  Talk  about  the 
country !  what  country  can  be  more  quiet  than  Guildford  street 
in  September?  I  stretch  out  of  a  morning  and  breathe  the 
mountain  air  on  Ludgate  Hill."  And  with  these  dismal  pleas- 
antries and  jokes  our  friend  chose  to  put  a  good  face  upon  bad 
fortune.  The  kinsmen  of  Ring  wood  offered  hospitality  kindly 
enough,  but  liow  was  poor  Philip  to  pay  railway  expenses  for 
servants,  babies,  and  wife  ?     In  this  strait  Tregarvan  from  abroad, 

having  found  out  some  monstrous  design  of  Russ of  the 

Great  Power  of  which  he  stood  in  daily  terror,  and  which,  as  we 
are  in  strict  amity  with  that  Power,  no  other  Po^er  shall  induce 
me  to  name — Tregarvan  wrote  to  his  editor,  and  communicated 
to  him  in  confidence  a  most  prodigious  and  nefarious  plot  against 
the  liberties  of  all  the  rest  of  Europe,  in  which  the  Power  in 
question  was  engaged,  ami  in  a  postscript  added,  w  By  the  way, 
the  Michaelmas  quarter  is  due,  and  I  send  you  a  check,"  etc., 
etc.     O  precious  postscript ! 

•'  Did  n't  I  tell  you  it  would  be  so  ?"  said  my  wife,  with  a  self- 
satisfied  air.     "  Was  I  not  certain  that  succor  would  come  V" 

/Vnd  succor  did  come,  sure  enough;  and  a  very  happy  little 


4  24  THE    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

party  went  down  to  Brighton  in  a  second-class  carriage,  and  got 
an  extraordinarily  cheap  lodging,  and  the  roses  came  back  to 
the  little  pale  cheeks,  and  mamma  was  wonderfully  invigorated 
and  refreshed,  as  all  her  friends  could  have  seen  when  the  little 
family  came  back  to  town,  only  there  was  such  a  thick  dun  foe 
that  it  was  impossible  to  see  complexions  at  all. 

When  the  shooting  seaspn  was  come  to  an  end  the  parliamen- 
tary agents  who  had  employed  Philip  came  back  to  London,  and, 
]  am  happy  to  say,  gave  him  a  check  lor  his  little  account.  My 
wife  cried,  "  Did  I  not  tell  )ou  so?'*  more  than  ever.  "Is  not 
everything  lor  the  best?     I  knew  dear  Philip  would  prosper!" 

Everything  was  for  the  best,  was  it  ?  Philip  was  sure  to 
prosper,  was  be  ?  What  do  you  think  of  the  next  news  which 
the  poor  fellow  brought  to  us?  One  night,  in  December  he 
came  to  us,  and  I  saw  by  his  face  that  some  event  of  importance 
had  befallen  him. 

fct  I  am  almost  heart-broken,"  he  said,  thumping  on  the  table 
when  the  young  ones  had  retreated  from  it.  "  I  don't  know 
what  to  do.  1  have  not  told  you  all.  I  have  paid  four  bills  for 
him  already,  and  now  he  has — he  has  signed  my  name." 

"Who  has?" 

"  He  at  New  York.  You  know,"  said  poor  Philip.  "  I  tell 
you  he  has  put  my  name  on  a  bill,  and  without  my  authority." 

"  Gracious  heavens  !     You  mean  your  father  has  for" I 

could  not  say  the  word. 

"  Yes,"  groaned  Philip.  "  Here  is  a  letter  from  him."  And 
he  handed  a  letter  across  the  table  in  the  doctor's  well-known 
handwriting. 

"  De  atiest  Philip  " — the  father  wrote — "  a  sad  misfortune  has  befallen 
nie,  which  I>bad  hoped  to  conceal,  or,  at  any  rate,  to  avert  from  my  dear 
son.  For  you,  Philip,  are  a  participator  in  that  misfortune  through  the 
imprudence — must  1  say  it? — of  your  father.  Would  I  had  struck  off 
the  band  which  has  done  the  deed  ere  it  had  been  done!  But  the  fault 
has  taken  wings  and  flown  out  of  my  reach.  Immeritus,  dear  boy,  you 
have  to  suffer  for  the  delicto  inajorum.  Ah,  that  a  father  should  have 
to  own  his  fault — to  kneel  and  ask  pardon  of  his  son  ! 

"  I  am  engaged  in  many  speculations.  Some  have  succeeded  beyond 
my  wildest  hopes  :  some  have  taken  in  the  most  rational,  the  most  pru- 
dent, the  least  sanguine  of  our  capitalists  in  Wall  street,  and  promising 
the  greatest  results  have  ended  in  the  most  extreine'failure !  To  meet 
a  call  in  an  undertaking  which  seemed  to  offer  the  most  certain  pros- 
pects of  success,  which  seemed  to  promise  a  fortune  for  me  ai*d  my  boy, 
and  your  dear  children,  I  put  in  among  other  securities  .which  I  had  to 
realize  on  a'suddeu,  a  bill,  on  which  I  used  your  name.  I  dated  it  as 
drawn  six  months  back  by  me  at  New  York,  on  you  at  Parchment 
Buildings,  Temple;  and  1  wrote  your  acceptance  as  though  the  signa- 
ture were  yours.  I  give  myself  up  to  you.  I  tell  you  what  I  have  done. 
Make  the  matter  public.  Give  my  confession  to  the  world,  as  here  I 
write  and  sign  it,  and  your  father  is  branded  for  ever  to  the  world  as 
a .     Snare  me  the  word. 


•    ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  425 

"  As  I  live,  as  I  hope  for  your  forgiveness — long  ere  that  bill  became 
due — it  is  at  five  months'  date  for  £386  4*.  ?xL,  value  received,  and 
dated  from  the  Temple  on  the  4th  of  July— I  passed  it  to  one  who 
promised  to  keep  it  until  I  myself  should  redeem  it.  The  commission 
which  he  charged  me  was  enormous  rascally  ;  and  not  content  with  the 
immense  interest  which  he  extorted  from  me,  the  scoundrel  has  passed 
the  bill  away,  and  it  is  in  Europe,  in  the  hands  of  an  enemy. 

"You  remember  Tufton  Hunt?  Yes.  You  moat  justly  chastised  him. 
The  wretch  lately  made  hi^  detested  appearance  in  this  city,  associated 
with  the  lowest  of  the  base,  and  endeavored  to  resume  his  old  practice  of 
threats,  cajoleries,  and  extortions!  In  a  fated  I/our  the  villain  heard  of 
the  bin  of  which  I  have  warned  you.  He  purchased  it  from  the  gam- 
bler to  whom  it  had  been  passed.  As  New  York  was  speedily  too  hot 
to  hold  him  (for  the  Unhappy  man  has  eren  left  me  to  p<iy  his  hotel  score), 
he  has  fled — and  fled  to  Europe — taking  with  him  that  fatal  bill,  which 
he  says  he  knows  you  will  pay.  Ah  !  dear  Philip,  if  that  bill  were  but 
once  out  of  the  wretch's  hands  !  What  sleepless  hours  of  agony  should 
I  be  spared  !  I  pray  you,  I  implore  you,  make  every  sacrifice  to  meet 
it !  You  will  not  disown  it  ?  No.  As  you  hare  children  of  your  own — 
as  you  l#ve  them — you  would  not  willingly  let  them  leave  a  dishonored 

"Father." 

"  I  have  a  share  in  a  great  medical  discovery,  regarding  which  I  have 
written  to  our  friend  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  which  is  sure  to  realize  an  im- 
mense profit,  as  introduced  into  England  by  a  physician  so  well  known 
—  may  I  not  say  professionally  ?  respected  as  myself.  The  very  first 
profits  resulting  from  that  discovery  I  promise,  on  my  honor,  to  devote 
to  you.  They  will  verj'  soon  far  more  than  repay  the  loss  which  my 
imprudence  has  brought  on  my  dear  boy.  Farewell !  Love  ^to  your 
wife  and  little  ones.— G.  B.  F." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

NEC    PLENA    CRUORIS    HIRUDO. 

The  reading  of  this  precious  letter  filled  Philip's  friend  with 
an  inward  indignation  which  it  was  very  hard  to  control  or  dis- 
guise. It  is  no  pleasant  task  to  tell  a  gentleman  that  his  father 
is  a  rogue.  Old  Fiimin  would  have  been  hanged  a  few  years 
earlier  for  practices  like  these.  As  you  talk  with  a  very  great 
scoundrel  or  with  a  madman,  has  not  the  respected  reader  some- 
times •ivnYrted.  with  a  grim  self-humiliation,  how  the  fellow  is  of 
our  own  kind  ;  and  homo  estf  Le!  us,  dearly  beloved,  who  are 
outside — I  mean  outside  the  hulks  or  the  asylum — be  thankful 
that  we  have  to  pay  a  barber  for  snipping  our  hair,  and  are 
intrusted  with  the  choice  of  the  cut  of  our  own  jerkins.  As  poor 
Philip  read  his  father's  letter  my  thought  was:  "And  I  can 
remember  the  soft  white  hand  of  (hat  scoundrel,  which  has  just 
been  forging  his  own  son's  name,  putting  sovereigns  into  my  own 
palm  when  I  was  a  school-boy."  I  always  liked  that  man:  but 
the  story  is  not  de  vie — it  regards  Philip.  * 


426  THE    ADVKNTUHKS    OF    PHILIP 

"  You  won't  pay  this  bill  ?"  Philip's  friend  indignantly  said, 
then. 

M  What  can  I  do?"  says  poor  Phil,  shaking  a  sad  head. 

"You  are  not  worth' five  hundred  pounds  in  the  world  V" 
remarks  the  friend. 

"  Who  ever  said  I  was?  I  am  worth  this  bill:  or  my  credit 
is,"  answers  the  victim. 

"If  you  pay  tbis,  he  will  draw  more." 

"  I  dare  say  he  will :"  that  Firmin  admits.  • 

"  And  he  will  continue  to  draw,  as  long  as  there  is  a  drop  of 
blood  to  be  had  out  of  you." 

"  Yes,"  owns  poor  Philip,  putting  a  finger  to  his  lip.  He 
thought  I  might  be  about  to  speak.  His  artless  wife  and  mine 
were  conversing  at  that  moment  upon  the  respective  merits  of 
some  sweet  chintzes  which  they  had  seen  at  Shoolbred's,  in  Tot- 
tenham Court  Road.'  and  which  were  so  cheap  and  pleasant,  and 
lively  to  look  at !  ile^lly  those  drawing-room  curtains  would 
cost  scarcely  anything!  Our  Regulus,  you  see,  before  stepping 
into  his  torture-tifb,  was  smiling  on  his  friends,  and  talking  up- 
holstery with  a  cheerful,  smirking  countenance.  On  chintz,  or 
some  other  household  errand,  the  ladies  went  prattling  off:  but 
there  was  no  care,  save  for  husband  and  children,  in  Charlotte's 
poor  little  innocent  heart  just  then. 

"Nice  to  hear  her  talking  about  sweet  drawing-room  chintzes, 
isn't  iff?"  says  Philip.  "  Shall  we  try  Shoolbred's,  or  the  other 
shop  ?"     And  then  he  laughs.     It  was  not  a  very  lively  laugh. 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  determined,  then,  on — " 

"  On  acknowledging  my  signature  f  Of  course,"  says  Philip, 
"  if  ever  it  is  presented  to  me,  I  would  own  it."  And  having 
formed  and  announced  this  resolution,  [  knew  my  stubborn 
friend  too  well  to  think  that  he  ever  would  shirk  it. 

The  most  exasperating  part  of  the  matter  was,  that  however 
generously  Philip's  friends  might  be  disposed  toward  him,  they 
could  not  in  this  case  give  him  a  helping  hand.  The  doctor 
would  draw  more  bills,  and  more.  As  sure  as  Philip  supplied  the 
parent  would  ask;  and  that  devouring  dragon  of  a  doctor  had 
stomach  enough  for  the  blood  of  all  of  us,  were  we  inclined  to 
give  it.  In  fact,  Philip  saw  a3  much,  and  owned  everything  with 
his  usual  candor.  "  I  see  what  is  going  on  in  your  mind,  old  boy !" 
the  poor  fellow  said,  "  as  well  as  if  you  spoke.  You  mean  that  I 
am  helpless  and  irreclaimable,  and  doomed  to  hopeless  ruin.  So 
it  would  seem.  A  man  can't  escape  his  fate,  friend,  and  my 
father  has  made  mine  for  me.  If  I  manage  to  struggle  through 
the  payment  of  this  bill,  of  "course  he  will  draw  another.  My 
only  chance  of  escape  is,  that  he  should  succeed  in  some  of  his 
speculations.  As  he  is  always  gambling,  there  may  be  some  luck 
for  him  one  day  or  another,  lla  won't  benefit  me,  then.  That  is 
not  his  way.     If  he  makes  a  coup,  he  will  keep  the  money  or 


ON    HI8    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  427 

spend  it.  He.  won't  give  me  any.  But  he  will  not  draw  upon 
me  as  he  does  now,  or  send  forth  fancy  imitations  of  the  filial 
autograph.  It  is  a  blessing  to  have  such  a  father,  isn't  it?  I 
say,  Pen,  as  I  think  from  whom  I  am  descended,  and  look  at  your 
spoons,  I  am  astonished  I  have  not  put  any  of  them  in  my  pocket. 
You  leave  me  in  the  room  with  'em  quite  unprotected.  I  say,  it 
is  quite  affecting  the  way  in  which  you  and  your  dedi  wife  have 
confidence  in  me."  And  with  a  bitter  exeeration  at  nis  fate,  the 
poor  fellow  pauses  for  a  moment  in  his  lament. 

His  father  was  his  fate,  he  seemed  to  think,  and  there  were  no 
means  of  averting  it.  "  You  remember  that  picture  of  Abraham 
and  Isaac  in  the  doctor's  study  in  Old  Farr  street?"  he  would 
say.  "  My  patriarch  has  tied  me  up,  and  had  the  knife  in  me 
repeatedly.  He  does  not  sacrifice  me  at  one  operation;  but 
there  will  be  a  final  one  some  day,  and  I  shall  bleed  no  more. 
It  's  gay  and  amusing,  isn't  it.  '  Especially  when  one  ha9  a  wife 
and  children."  I,  for  my  part,  felt  so  indignant  that  I  was  minded 
to  advertise  in  the  papers  that  all  acceptances  drawn  in  Philip's 
name  were  forgeries ;  and  let  his  father  take  the  consequences  of 
his  own  act.  But  the  consequences  would  have  been  life  impris- 
onment for  the  old  man,  and  almost  as  much  disgrace  and  ruin  for 
the  young  one  as  were  actually  impending.  He  pointed  out  this 
clearly  enough  ;  nor  could  we  altogether  gainsay  his  dismal 
logic.  It  was  better,  at  any  rate,  to  meet  this  bill,  and. give  the 
doctor  warning  for  the  future.  Well,  perhaps  it  was;  only  sup- 
pose the  doctor  should  take  the  warning  in  good  part,  accept  the 
rebuke  with  perfect  meekness,  and  at  an  early  opportunity  com- 
mit another  forgery  ?  To  this  Philip  replied,  that  no  man  could 
resist  his  fate  :  that  he  had  always  expected  his  own  doom 
through  his  father :  that  when  the  elder  went  to  America  he 
thought  possibly  the  charm  was  broken  ;  "  but  you  see  it  is  not," 
groaned  Philip,  "  and  my  father's  emissaries  reach  me,  and  I  am 
still  under  the  spell."  The  bearer  of  the  bow-string,  we  know, 
was  on  his  way,  and  would  deliver  his  grim  message  ere  long. 

Having  frequently  succeeded  in  extorting  money  from  Dr.  Fir- 
min,  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt  thought  he  could  not  do  better  than  follow 
his  banker  across  the  Atlantic;  and  we  need  not  describe  the 
annoyance  and  rage  of  the  doctor  on  finding  this  black  care  still 
behind  his  back.  He  har^  not  much  to  give;  indeed  the  sum 
whrch  he  took  away  with  him,  and  of  which  he  robbed  his  son 
and  his  other  creditors,  was  but  small;  but  Hunt  was  bent  upon 
having  a  portion  of  this  ;  and,  of  course,  hinted  that,  if  the  doctor 
refused,  he  would  carry  to  the  New  York  press  the  particulars  of 
Finnin's  early  career  and  latest  defalcations.  Mr.  Hunt  had 
been  under  the  gallery  of  the  House  of  Commons  half  a  dozen 
times,  and  knew  our  public  men  by  sight.  In  the  course  of  a 
pretty  long  and  disreputable  career  he  had  learned  anecdotes 
regarding  members  of  the  aristocracy,  turf-men,  and  the  like ; 


428  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  he  offered  to  sell  this  precious  knowledge  of  his  to  more  than 
one  American  paper,  as  other  amiable  exiles  from  our  country 
have  done.  But  Hunt  was  too  old,  and  his  stories  too  stale,  for 
the  New  York  public.  They  dated  from  George  IV,  and  the 
boxing  and  coaching  times.  He  found  but  little  market  for  his 
wares ;  and  the  tipsy  parson  reeled  from  tavern  to  bar,  only  the 
object  of  scorn  to  younger  reprobates  who  despised  his  old- 
fashioned  stories,  and  could  top  them  with  blackguardism  of  a 
much  more  modern  date. 

After  some  two  years'  sojourn  in  the  United  States,  this  worthy 
felt  the  passionate  longing  to  revisit  his  native  country  which 
generous  hearts  often  experience,  and  made  his  way  from  Liver- 
pool to  London  ;  and  when  in  London  directed  his  steps  to  the 
house  of  the  Little  Sister,  of  which  he  expected  to  find  Philip 
still  an  inmate.  Although  Hunt  had  been  once  kicked  out  of  the 
premises,  he  felt  little  shame  now  about  re-entering  them.  He 
had  that  in  his  pocket  which  would  insure  him  respectful  behavior 
from  Philip.  What  were  the  circumstances  under  which  that 
forged  bill  was  obtained  ?  Was  it  a  speculation  between  Hunt 
and  Philip's  father  ?  Did  Hunt  suggest  that,  to  screen  the  elder 
Firmin  from  disgrace  and  ruin,  Philip  would  assuredly  take  the 
bill  up  ?  That  a  forged  signature  was,  in  fact,  a  better  document 
than  a  genuine  acceptance  ?  We  shall  never  know  the  truth 
regarding  this  transaction  now.  We  have  but  the  statements  of 
the  two  parties  concerned ;  and  as  both  of  them,  I  grieve  to  say, 
are  entirely  unworthy  of  credit,  we  must  remain  in  ignorance 
regarding  this  matter.  Perhaps  Hunt  forged  Philip's  acceptance ; 
perhaps  his  unhappy  father  wrote  it :  perhaps  the  doctor's  story 
that  the  paper  was  extorted  from  him  was  true,  perhaps  false. 
What  matters?  Both  the  men  have  passed  away  from  among 
us,  and  will  write  and  speak  no  more  lies. 

Caroline  was  absent  from  home  when  Hunt  paid  his  first  visit 
after  his  return  from  America.  Her  servant  described  the  man 
and  his  appearance.  Mrs.  Brandon  felt  sure  that  Hunt  was  her 
visitor,  and  foreboded  no  good  to  Philip  from  the  parson's  arrival. 
In  former  days  we  have  seen  how  the  Little  Sister  had  found 
favor  in  the  eyes  of  this  man.  The  besotted  creature,  shunned 
of  men,  stained  with  crime,  drink,  debt,  had  still  no  little  vanity 
in  his  composition,  and  pave  himsei/  airs,  in  the  parlor  taverns 
which  he  irequented.  Because  he  had  been  at^the  University 
thirty  years  ago,  bis  idea  was  that  he  was  superior  to  ordinary 
men  who  had  not  had  the  benefit  of  an  education  at  Oxford  or 
Cambridge. ;  and  that  the  "  snobs,"  as  he  called  them,  respected 
him.  He  would  assume  grandiose  airs  in  talking  to  a  tradesman 
ever  so  wealthy  ;  speak  to  such  a  man  by  his  surname ;  and  deem 
that  he  honored  him  by  his  patronage  and  conversation.  The 
Little  Sister's  grammar,  I  have  told  you,  was  not  good  ;  her  poor 
little  h's  were  sadly  irregular.     A  letter  was  a  painful  task  to  her. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  429 

She  knew  how  ill  she  performed  it,  and  that  she  was  for  ever 
making  blunders. 

She  would  invent  a  thousand  funny  little  pleas  and  excuses  for 
her  faults  of  writing.  With  all  the  blunders  of  spelling,  her  lit- 
tle letters  had  a  pathos  which  somehow  brought  tears  into  the 
eyes.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Hunt  believed  himself  to  be  this  woman's 
superior.  He  thought  his  University  education  gave  him  a 
claim  upon  her  respect,  and  draped  himself  and  swaggered  before 
her  and  others  in  his  dingy  college  gown.  He  had  paraded  his 
Master  of  Arts  degree  in  many  thousand  tavern  parlors,  where 
his  Greek  and  learning  had  got  him  a  kind  of  respect.  He 
patronized  landlords,  and  strutted  by  hostesses'  bars  with  a 
vinous  leer  or  a  tipsy  solemnity.  He  must  have  been  very  far 
gone  and  debased  indeed  when  he  could  still  think  that  he  was 
any  living  man's  better  ;  he,  who  ought  to  have  waited  on  the 
waiters,  and  blacked  boots'  own  shoes.  When  be  had  reached 
a  certain  stage  of  liquor  he  commonly  began  to  brag  about  the 
University,  and  recite  the  titles  of  his  friends  of  early  days. 
Never  was  kicking  more  righteously  administered  than  that 
which  Philip  once  "bestowed  on  this  miscreant.  The  fellow  took 
to  the  gutter  as  naturally  as  to  his  bed,  Firmin  used  to  say,  and 
vowed  that  the  washing  there  was  a  novelty  which  did  him  good. 

Brandon  soon  found  that  her  surmises  were  correct  regarding 
her  nameless  visitor.  Next  day,  as  she  was  watering  some  little 
flowers  in  her  window,  she  looked  from  it  into  the  street,  where 
she  saw  the  shambling  parson  leering  up  at  her.  When  she  saw 
him  he  took  oflf  his  greasy  hat  and  made .  her  a  bow.  At  the 
moment  she  saw  him  she  felt  that  he  was  come  upon  some  errand 
hostile  to  Philip.  She.  knew  he  meant  mischief  as  he  looked  up 
with  that,  sodden  face,  those  bloodshot  eyes,  those  unshorn,  grin- 
ninjf  lips. 

She  might  have  been  inclined  to  faint,  or  disposed  to  scream, 
or  to  hide  herself  from  the  man,  the  sight  of  whom  she  loathed. 
She  did  not  faint,  or  hide  herself,  or  cry  out;  but  she  instantly 
nodded  her  head  and  smiled  in  the  most  engaging  manner  on 
that  unwelcome,  dingy  stranger.  She  went  to  her  door;  she 
opened  it  (though  her  heart  beat  so  that  yon  might  have  heard 
it,  as  she  told  her  friend  afterward).  She  stood  there  a  moment 
archly  smiling  at  him,  and  she  beckoned  him  into  her  house  with 
a  little  gesture  of  welcome.  "  Law  bless  us  "  (these,  I  have 
reason  to  believe,  were  her  very  words) — "  Law  bless  us,  Mr. 
Hunt,  where  ever  have  you  been  this  ever  so  long  ?"  And  a 
smiling  face  looked  at  him  resolutely  from  under  a  neat  cap  and 
fresh  ribbon.  Why,  I  know  some  women  can  smile  and  look  at 
ease  when  they  sit  down  in  a  dentist's  chair. 

"  Law  bless  me,  Mr.  Hunt,"  then  says  the  artless  creature, 
"who  over  would  have  thought  of  seeing  you,  1  do  declare." 
And  she  makes  a  nice,  cheery  little  courtesy,  and  looks  quite 


480  THE   ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

gay,  pleased,  and  pretty  ;  and  so  did  Judith  look  gay,  no  doubt, 
and  smile,  and  prattle  before  Holofurnes;  and  then  of  course  she 
said,  "  Won't  you  step  in  ?"  And  then  Hunt  swaggered  up  the 
steps  of  the  house,  and  entered  the  little  parlor,  into  which  the 
kind  reader  has  often  been  conducted,  with  its  neat  little  orna- 
ments, its  glistening  corner  cupboard,  and«its  well-scrubbed, 
shining  furniture. 

"  How  is  the  captain  ?"  asks  the  man  (alone  in  the  company  of 
this  Little  Sister  the  fellow's  own  heart  began  to  beat,  and  his 
bloodshot  eyes  to  glisten). 

He  had  not  heard  about  poor  pa  ?  "  That  shows  how  long 
you  have  been  away !"  Mrs.  Brandon  remarks,  and  mentions  the 
date  of  her  father's  fatal  illness.  Yes :  she  was  alone  now,  and 
had  to  care  for  herself;  and  straightway,  I  have  no  doubt,  Mrs. 
Brandon  asked  Mr.  Hunt  whether  he  would  "  take  "  anything. 
Indeed,  that  good  little  woman  was  for  ever  pressing  her  friends 
.to  "take"  something,  and  would  have  thought  the  laws  of  hos- 
pitality violated  unless  she  had  made  this  offer. 

Hunt  was  never  known  to  refuse  a  proposal  of  this  sort.  He 
would  take  a  taste  of  something — of  something  warm.^  He  had 
had  fever  and  ague  at  New  York,  and  the  malady  hung  about 
him.  Mrs.  Brandon  was  straightway  very  much  interested  to 
hear  about  Mr.  Hunt's  complaint,  and  knew  that  a  comfortable 
glass  was  very  efficacious  in  removing  threatening,  fever.  Her 
nimble,  neat  little  hands  mixed  him  a  cup.  He  could  not  but  see 
what  a  trim  little  housekeeper  she  was.  "Ah,  Mrs.  Brandon,  if 
I  had  had  such  a  kind  friend  watching  over  me,  I  should  not  be 
such  a  wreck  as  I  am !"  He  must  have  advanced  to  a  second, 
nay,  a  third  glass,  when  he  sighed  and  became  sentimental 
regarding  his  own  unhappy  condition,  and  Brandon  owned  to 
her  friends  afterward  that  she  made  those  glasses  very  strong. 

Having  "taken  something"  in  considerable  quantities,  then 
Hunt  condescended  to  ask  how  his  hostess  was  getting  on,  and 
how  were  her  lodgers  ?  How  she  was  getting  on  ?  Brandon 
drew  the  most  cheerful  picture  of  herself  and  her  circumstances. 
The  apartments  let  well,  and  were  never  empty.  Thanks  to 
good  Dr.  Goodenough  and  other  friends,  she  had  as  much  pro- 
fessional occupation  as  she  could  desire.  Since  you  know  who 
has  left  the  country,  she  said,  her  mind  had  been  ever  so  much 
easier.  As  long  as  he  was  near  she  never  felt  secure.  •  But  he 
was  gone,  and  bad  luck  go  with  him  !  said  this  vindictive  Little 
Sister. 

"  Was  his  son  still  lodging  up  stairs  ?"  asked  Mr.  Hunt. 

On  this?  what  does  Mrs.  Brandon  do  but  begin  a  most  angry 
attack  upon  Philip  and  his  family.  He  lodge  there?  No,  thank 
goodness  !  She  had  hgid  enough  of  him  and  his  wife,  with  her 
airs  and  graces,  and  the  children  crying  all  night,  and  the  furni- 
ture spoiled,  and  the  bills  not  even  paid!     "I  wanted  him  to 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  431 

think  that  me  and  Philip  was  friends  no  longer;  tand  heaven 
forgive  me  for  telling  stories!  I  know  this  fellow  means  no  good 
to  Philip;  and  before  long  I  will  know  ivhat  he  means,  that  I 
will,"  she  vowed. 

For  on  the  very  day  when  Mr.  Hunt  paid  her  a  visit,  Mrs. 
Brandon  came  to  see  Philip's  friends,  and  acquaint  them  with 
Hunt's  arrival.  We  could  not  be  sure  that  he  was  the  bearer 
of  the  forged  bill  with  which  poor  Philip  was  threatened.  As 
yet  Hunt  had  made  no  allusion  to  it.  But,  though  we  are  far 
from  sanctioning  deceit  or  hypocrisy,  we  own  that  we  were  not 
very  angry  with  the  Little  Sister  for  employing  dissimulation  in 
the  present  instance,  and  inducing. Hunt  to  believe  that  she  was 
by  no  means  an  accomplice  of  Philip.  If  Philip's  wife  pardoned 
her,  ought  his  friends  to  be  less  forgiving  ?  To  do  right,  you 
know  you  must  not  do  wrong;  though  I  own  this  was  one  of  the 
cases  in  which  1  am  inclined  not  to  deal  very  hardly  with  the 
well-meaning  little  criminal. 

Now  Charlotte  had  to  pardon  (and  for  this  fault,  if  not  for 
some  others,  Charlotte  did  most  heartily  pardon)  our  little  friend, 
for  this  reason,  that  Brandon  most  wantonJy.  maligned  her. 
When  Hunt  asked  what  sort  of  wife  Philip  had  married  ?  Mrs. 
Brandon  declared  that  Mrs.  Philip  was  a  pert,  orlious  little  thing; 
that, she  gave  herself  airs,  neglected  her  children,  bullied  her 
husband, 'and  what  not;  and,  finally,  Brandon  vowed  that  she 
disliked  Charlotte,  and  was  very  glad  to  get  her  out  of  the  house: 
and  that  Philip  was  not  the  same  Philip  since  he  married  her, 
and  that  he  gave  himself  airs,  and  was  rude,  and  in  all  things 
led  by  his  wife;  and  to  get  rid  of  them  "was  a  good  riddance. 

Hunt  gracefully  suggested  that  quarrels  between  landladies 
and  tenants  were  not  unusual ;  that  lodgers  sometimes  did  not 
pay  their  rent  punctually ;  at  others  were  unreasonably  anxious 
about  the  consumption  of  their  groceries,  liquors,  and  so  forth; 
and  little  Brandon,  who,  rather  than  steal  a  pennyworth  from 
her  Philip,  would  have  cut  her  hand  off,  laughed  at  her  guest's 
joke,  and  pretended  to  be  amused  with  his  knowing  hints  that 
she  was  a  rogue.  There  was  not  a  word  he  said  but  she  received 
it  with  a  gracious  acquiescence:  she  might  shudder  inwardly  at 
the  leering  familiarity  of  the  odious  tipsy  wretch,  but  she  gave 
no  outward  sign  of  .disgust  or  fear.  She  allowed  him  to  talk  as 
much  as  he  would  in  hopes  that  he  would  come  to  a  subject 
which  deeply  interested  her.  She  asked  about  the  doctor  and 
what  he  was  doing,  and  whether  it  was  likely  that  he  would 
ever  be  able  to  pay  back  any  of  that  money  which  he  had  taken 
from  his  son  ?  And  she  spoke  with  an  indifferent  tone,  pre- 
tending to  be  very  busy  over  some  work  at  which  she  was 
stitching. 

u  Oh,  you  are  still  hankering  after  him  1"  says  the  chaplain, 
winking  a  bloodshot-  eye. 


432  THK    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIF 

"  Hankering  after  that  old  man  1  What  should  I  care  for 
him  ?  As  if  he  have  n't  done  me  harm  enough  already  !"  cries 
poor  Caroline. 

"  Yes.  But  women  don't  dislike  a  man  the  worse  for  a  little 
ill-usage/'  suggests  Hunt.  No  doubt  the  fellow  had  made  his 
own  experiments  on  woman's  fidelity. 

"  Well,  1  suppose,"  says  Brandon,  with  a  toss  of  her  head, 
"women  may  get  tired  as  well  as  men,  mayn't  they  ?  I  found 
out  that  man,  and  wearied  of  him  years  and  years  ago.  Another 
little  drop  out  of  the  green  bottie,  Mr.  Hunt !  It 's  very  good 
for  ague-fever,  and  keeps  the  cold  fit  ofF  wonderful !" 

And  Hunt  drank,  and  he  talked  a  little  more — much  more: 
and  he  gave  his  opinion  of  the  elder  Firmin,  and  spoke  of  his 
chances  of  success,  and  of  his  rage  for  speculations,  and  doubted 
whether  he  would  ever  be  able  to  lift  his  head  again — though  he 
might,  he  might  still.  He  was  in  the  country  where,  if  ever  a 
man  could  retrieve  himself,  he  had  a  chance.  And  Philip  was 
giving  himself  airs,  was  he  ?  He  was  always  an  arrogant  chap, 
that  Mr.  Philip.  And  hg  had  left  her  house  V  and  was  gone 
ever  so  long  ?  and^where  did  he  live  now  ? 

Then  I  am  sorry  to  say  Mrs.  Brandon  asked,  how  should  she 
know  where  Philip  lived  now"?  She  believed  it  was  near  Gray's 
Inn,  or  Lincoln's  Inn,  or  somewhere ;  and  she  was  for  turning 
the  conversation  away  from  this  subject  altogether:  and  sought 
to  do  so  by  many  lively  remarks  and  ingenious  little  artifices 
which  I  can  imagine,  but  which  she  only  in  part  acknowledged 
to  me — for  you  must  know  that  as  soon  as  her  visitor  took  leave — 
to  turn  into  the  "  Admiral-  Byng"  public-house,  and  renew  ac- 
quaintance with  the  worthies  assembled  in  the  parlor  of  that 
taveriij  Mrs.  Brandon  ran  away  to  a  cab,  drove  in  it  to  Philip's 
house  m  Milman  street,  where  only  Mrs.  Philip  was  at  home — 
and  after  a  banclte  conversation  with  her,  which  puzzled  Char- 
lotte not  a  little,  for  Brandon  would  not  say  on  what  errand  she 
came,  and  never  mentioned  Hunt's  arrival  and  visit  to  her — the 
Little  Sister  made  her  way  to  another  cab,  and  presently  made 
her  appearance  at  the  house  of  Philip's  friends  in  Queen  square. 
And  here  she  informed  me  bow  Hunt  had  arrived,  and  how  she 
was  sure  he  meant  no  good  to  Philip,  and  how  she  had  told  cer- 
tain— certain  stories  which  were  not  founded  in  fact — to  Mr. 
Hunt:  for  the  telling  of  which  fibs  I  am  not  about  to  endeavor 
to  excuse  her. 

Though  the  interesting  clergyman  had  not  said  one  word 
regarding  that  bill  of  which  Philip's  father  had  warned  him,  we 
believed  that  the  document  was  in  Hunt's  possession,  and  that  it 
would  be  produced  in  due  season.  We  happened  to  know  where 
Philip  dined,  and  sent  him  word  to  come  to  us. 

"  What  can  he  mean  ?''  the  people  asked  at  the  table — a 
bachelors'  table  at  the  Temple  (for  Philip's  good  wife  actually 


ON   HIS   WAT   THROUGH   THE   WORLD-  433 

encou1*acred  him  to  go  abroad  from  time  to  time,  and  make  merry 
with'his  friends).  '■**  What  can  this  mean  ?"  and  they  read  out 
the  scrap  of  paper  which  he  had  cast  down  as  he  was  summoned 
away. 

Philip's  correspondent  wrote  :  u  Dear  Philip — I  believe  the 
bearer  of  the  how-stking  has  arrived;  and  has  been  with 
the  L.  S.  this  very  day." 

The  L.  S.  ?  the  bearer  of  the  bow-string  ?  Not  one  of  the 
bachelors  dining  in  Parchment  Buildings  could  read  the  riddle. 
Only  after  receiving  the  scrap  of  paper  Philip  lffcd  jumped  up 
and  left  the  room ;  and  a  friend  of  ours,  a  sly  wag,  and  Don 
Juan  of  Pump  Court,  offered  to  take  odds  that  there  was  a  lady 
in  the  case. 

At  the  hasty  little  council  which  was  convened  at  our  house 
on  the  receipt  of  the  news,  the  Little  Sister,  whose  instinct  had 
not  betrayed  her,  was  made  acquainted  with  the  precise  nature 
of  the  danger  which  menaced  Philip  ;  andr  exhibited  a  fine 
hearty  wrath  when  she  heard  how  he  proposed  to  meet  the 
enemy.  He  had  a  certain  sum  in  hand.  He  would  borrow 
more  of  his  friends  Itho  knew  that  he  was  an  honest  man. 
This  bill  he  would  meet  whatever  might  come;  and  avert  at 
least  this  disgrace  from  his  father. 

What  ?  Give  in  to  those  rogues  ?  Leave  his  children  to 
starve,  and  his  poor  wife  to  turn  drudge  and  house-servant,  who 
was  not  fit  for  anything  but  a  fine  lady  ?  (There  was  no  lqye 
lost,  you  see,  between  these  two  ladies,  who  both  loved  Mr. 
Philip.)  It  was  a  sin  and  a  shame  1,  Mrs.  Brandon  averred, 
and  declared  she  thought  Philip  had  been  a  man  of  more  spirit. 
Philip's  friend  has  before  stated  his  own  private  sentiments  re- 
garding the  calamity  which  menaced  Firmin.  To  pay  this  bill 
was  to  bring  a  dozen  more,  down  upon  him.  Philip  might  as 
well  resist,  now  as  at  a  later  .day.  Such,  in  fact,  was  the  opinion 
given  by  the  reader's  very  humble  servant  at  command. 

My  wife,  on  the  other  hand,  took  Philip's  side.  She  was  very 
much  moved  at  his  announcement  that  he  would  forgive  his 
father  this  once  at  least,  and  endeavor  to  covey  his  sin. 

"As  you  hope  to  be  forgiven  yourself,  dear  Philip,  I  am  sure 
you  are  doing  right,"  Laura  said;  "I  am-  sure  Charlotte  will 
think  so  "  • 

"  Oh,  Charlotte,  Charlotte !"  interposes  the  Little  Sister, 
rather  peevishly  ;  "  of  course  Mrs.  Philip  thinks  whatever  her 
husband  tells  her !" 

"  In  his  own  time  of  trial  Philip  has  been  met  with  wonderful 
succor  and  kindness,"  Laura  urged.  "  See  how  one  thing  after 
another  has  contributed  to  help  him!  When  he  wanted,  there 
were  friends  always  at  his  need.  If  he  wants  again,  I  am  sure 
my  husband  and  I  will  share  with  him."  (I  may  have  made  a 
wry  face  at  this  ;  for,  with  the  best  feelings  toward  a  man,  and 
37 


434  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

that,  kind  of  thing,  you  know  it  is  not  always  convenient  to  be 
Jfcfiding  him  five  or  six  hundred  pounds  without  security.)  "  My 
dear  husband  and  I  will  share  with  him."  goes  on  Mrs.  Laura  ; 
"  won't  we,  Arthur  ?  Yes,  Braudon,  that  we  will.  Be  sure 
Charlotte  and  the  children  shall  not  want  because  Philip  covers 
his  father's  wrong  and  hides  it  from  the  world.  God  bless  you, 
dear  friend  !"  And  what  does  this  woman  do  next,  and  before 
her  husband's  face  ?  Actually  she  goes  up  to  Philip  ;  she  takes 
his  hand — and —  Well,  what  took  place  before  my  own  eyes  I 
do  not  choose  to  write  down. 

"  She  's  encouraging  him  to  ruin  the  children  for  the  sake  of 
that — that  wicked  old  brute !"  cries  Mrs.  Brandon.  "  It  's 
enough  to  provoke  a  saint,  it  is  !"  And  she  seizes  up  her  bonnet 
from  the  table  and  flaps  it  on  her  head,  and  walks  out  of  our 
room  in  a  little  tempest  of  wrath. 

My  wife,  clasping  her  hands,  whispers  a  few  words,  which 
say  :  "  Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  them  who  trespass 
against  vt." 

"  Yes."  says  Philip,  very  much  moved.  '*  It  is  the  Divine 
order.  You  are  right,  dear  Laura.  I  have  had  a  weary  time  ; 
and  a  terrible  gloom  of  doubt  and  sadness  over  my  mind  while  I 
have  been  debating  this  matter,  and  before  I  had  determined  to 
do  as  you  would  have  me.  But  a  great  weight  is  off  my  heart 
since  1  have  been  enabled  to  see  what  my  conduct  should  be. 
What  hundreds  of  struggling  men  as  well  as  mvself  have  met 
wrth  losses  and  faced  them  !  I  will  pay  this  bill,  and  I  will  warn 
the  drawer  to — to  spare  me  for  the  future." 

Now  that  the  Little  Sister  had  gone  away  in  her  fit  of  indig- 
nation, you  see  I  was  left  in  a  minority  in  the  council  of  war, 
and  the  opposition  was  quite  too  strong  for  me.  I  began  to  be 
of  the  majority's  opinion.  I  dare  say  I  am  not  the.  only  gentle- 
man who  has  been  led  round  by  a*woman.  We  men  of  great 
strength  of  mind  very  frequently  are.  Yes  ;  my  wife  convinced 
me  with  passages  from  her  text-book,  admitting  of  no  contradic- 
tion according  to  her  judgment,  that  Philip's  duty  was  to  forgive 
his  father. 

"  And  how  lucky  it  was  we  did  not,  buy  the  chintzes  that  day  1" 
says  Laura,  with  a  laugh.  "  Do  you  know  there  were  two  which 
were  so  pretty  that  Charlotte  could  not  make  up  her  mind  which 
of  the  two  she  would  take  ?" 

Philip  roared  out  one  of  his  laughs  which  made  the  windows 
shake.  He  was  in  great  spirits.  For  a  man  who  was  going  to 
ruin  himself  he  was  in  the  most  enviable  good-humor.  Did  Char- 
lotte know  about  this — this  claim  which  was  impending  over 
him  ?  No.  It  might  make  her  anxious,  poor  little  thing  !  Philip 
had  not  told  her.  He  had  thought  of  concealing  the  matter 
from  her.  What  need  was  there  to  disturb  her  rest,  poor  inno- 
cent child  ?     You  see,  we  all  treated  Mrs.  Charlotte  more  or 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD. 


i35 


less  like  a  child.  Philip  played  with  her.  J.  J.,  the  painter, 
coaxed  and  dandled  her,  so  to  apeak.  The  Little  Sister  loved  her, 
but  certainly  with  a  love  that  was  not  respectful ;  and  Charlotte 
took  everybody's  good-will  with  a  pleasant  meekness  and  sweet 
smiling  content.  It  was  not  for  Laura  to  give  advice  to  man  and 
■wife  (as  if  the  woman  was  not  always  giving  lectures  to  Philip 
and  his  young  wife!);  but  in  the  present  instance  she  thought 
Mrs.  Philip  certainly  ought  to  ki  6w  what  Philip's  real  situation 
was;  what  danger  was  menacing;  "and  how  admirable,  and 
right,  and  christian — and  you  will  have  your  reward  for  it,  dear 
Philip !"  interjects  the  enthusiastic  lady — "  your  conduct  has 
been  !" 

When  we  came,  as  we  straightway  did  in  a  cab,  to  Charlotte's 
house,  to  expound  the  matter  to  her,  goodness  bless  us !  she  was 
not  shocked,  or  anxious,  or  frightened  at  all.  Mrs.  Brandon  had 
just  been  with  her,  and  told  her  of  what  was  happening,  and  she 
had  said,  "  Of  course,  Philip  ought  to  help  his  father;  and  Brandon 
had  gone  away  quite  in  a  tantrum  of  anger,  and  had  really  been 
quite  rude ;  and  she  should  not  pardon  her,  only  she  knew  how 
dearly  the  Little  Sister  loved  Philip;  and  of  course  they  must 
help  Dr.  Firmin ;  and  what  dreadful,  dreadful  distress  he  must 
have  been  in  to  do  as  he  did  !  But  he  had  warned  Philip,  you 
know,"  and  so  forth.  "  And  as  for  the  chintzes,  Laura,  why  I 
suppose  we  must  go  on  with  the  old  shabby  covers.  You  know 
they  will  do  very  well  till  next  year."  This  was  the  way  in  which 
Mrs.  Charlotte  received,  the  news  which  Philip  had  concealed 
from  her,  lest  it  should  terrify  her.  As  if  a  loving  woman  was 
ever  very  much  frightened  at  being  called  upon  to  share  her 
husband's  misfortune  ! 

As  for  the  little  case  of  forgery,  I  don't  believe  the  young  per- 
son could  ever  be  got  to  see  the  heinous  nature  of  Dr.  Firmin's 
offence.  The  desperate  little  logician  seemed  rather  to  pity  the 
father  than  the  son  in  the  business.  "  How  dreadfully  pressed 
lie  must  have  been  when  he  did  it,  poor  man  1"  she  said.  "  To 
be  sure  he  ought  not  to  have  done  it  at  all ;  but  think  of  his 
necessity  !  That  is  what  I  said  to  Brandon.  Now,  there  's  little 
Philip's  cake  in  the  cupboard  which  you  brought,  him.  Now  sup- 
pose' papa  was  very  hungry,  and  went  and  took  some  without 
asking  Philly,  he  would  n't  be  so  very  wrong,  I  think,  would  he? 
A  child  is  glad  enough  to  give  for  his  father,  isn't  he  ?  And 
when  I  said  this  to  Brandon,  she  was  so  rude  and  violent,  I  really 
have  no  patience  with  her !  And  she  forgets  that  I  am  a  lady, 
and  "  etc.,  etc.  So  it  appeared  the  Little  Sister  had  made  a 
desperate  attempt  to  bring  over  Ctiarlotte  to  her  side,  was  still 
minded  to  rescue  Philip  in  spite  of  himself,  and  had  gone  off  in 
wrath  at  her  defeat. 

We  looked  to  the  doctor's  letters  and  ascertained  the  date  of 
the  bill.     It  had  crossed  the  water,  a/id  would  be  at  Philip's  door 


435  THE   ADVENTURES   OP   PHILIP 

in  a  very  few  days.  Had  Hunt  brought  it  ?  The  rascal  would 
have  it  presented  through  some  regular  channel,  no  doubt;  and 
Philip  and  all  of  us  totted  up  ways  and  means,  and  strove  to 
make  the  slender  figures  look  as  big  as  possible,  as  the  thrifty 
housewife  puts  a  patch  here  and  a  darn  there,  and  cuts  a  little 
slice  out  of  this  old  garment,  so  as  to  make  the  poor  little  frock 
serve  for  winter  wear.  We  had  so  much  at  the  banker's.  A 
friend  might  help  with  a  little  advance.  ~  We  would  fairly  ask 
a  loan  from  the  Review.  We  were'  in  a  scrape,  but  we  would 
meet  it.  And  so  with  resolute  hearts  we  would  prepare  to  receive 
the  Bearer  of  the  Bow-string:. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

*  • 

THE    BEARER    OF    THE    BOW-STRING. 

The  poor  Little,  Sister  trudged  away  from  Milman  street, 
exasperated  with  Philip,  with  Philip's  wife,  and  with  the  deter- 
mination of  the  pair  to  accept  the  hopeless  ruin  impending  over 
them.  "  Three  hundred  and  eighty-six  pounds  four  and  three- 
pence," she  thought,  "  to  pay  for  that  wicked  old  villain  !  It  is 
more  than  poor  Philip  is  worth,  with  all  his  savings  and  his 
little  sticks  of  furniture.  L  know  what  he  will  do:  he  will  bor- 
row of  the  money-lenders,  and  give^hose  bills,  and  renew  them, 
and  end  by  ruin.  When  he  have  paid  this  bill  that  old  villain 
will  forge  another^and  that  precious  wife  of  his  will  tell  him  to 
pay  that,  I  suppose ;  and  those  little  darlings  will  be  begging  for 
bread,  unless  they  come  and  tat  mine,  to  which — God  bless  them! 
— they  are  always  welcome."  She  calculated — it  was  a  sum  not 
difficult  to  reckon — the  amount  of  her  own  little  store  of  saved 
ready  money.  To  pay  four  hundred  pounds  out  of  such  an  in- 
come as  Philip's,  she  felt,  was  an  attempt  vain  and  impossible. 
"  And  he  mu?t  n't  have  my  poor  little  stocking  now,"  she  argued;" 
"  they  will  want  that  presently  when  their  pride  is  broken  down, 
as  it  will  be,  and  my  darlings  are  hungeriilg  for  their  dinner !" 
Revolving  this  dismal  matter  in  her  mind,  and  scarce  knowing 
where  to  go  for  comfort  and  counsel,  she  made  her  way  to  her 
good  friend.  Dr.  Goodenough,  and  found  that  worthy  man,  who 
had  always  a  welcome  for  his  Little  Sister. 

She  found  Goodenough  alone  in  his  great  dining-room,  taking 
a  very  slender  meal,  after  visiting  his  hospital  and  his  fifty  pa- 
tients, among  whom  I  think  there  were  more  poor  than  rich  : 
and  the  good  sleepy  doctor  woke  up  with  a  vengeance  when  he 
heard  his  little  nurse's  news,  and  fired  ofT  a  volley  of  angry  lan- 
guage against  Philip  arifl  his  scoundrel  of  a  father ;  k'  which  it 
was  a  comfort  to. hear  him,"  little  Brandon  told  us  afterward. 
Then  Goodenough  trotted  out  of  the  dining-roora  into  the  adjoin- 


ON   HIS   WAT   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  437 

ing  library  and  consulting-room,  whither  his  old  friend  followed 
him.  Then  be  pulled  out  a  bunch  of  keys  and  opened  a  .secre- 
taire, from  which  he  took  a  parchment-covered  volume,  on  which 
J.  Goodenour/h,  Exq.,  RI.D '.,  was  written  in  a  line  legible  hand — 
and  which,  in  fact,  was  a  banker's  book.  The  inspection  of  the 
MS.  volume  in  question  must  have  pleased  the  worthy  physician, 
for  a  grin  came,  over  his  venerable  features,  and  he  straightway 
drew  out  of  the  desk  a  slim  volume  of  gray  paper,  on  each  page 
of  which  were,  inscribed  the  highly  respectable  names  of  Messrs. 
Stumpy  and  Rowdy  and  Co.,  of  Lombard  street,  Bankers.  On 
a  slip  of  gray  paper  the  doctor  wrote  a  prescription  for  a 
draught,  gteiitfi  sumendus — (a  draught — mark  my  pleasantry) — 
which  he  handed  over  to  his  little  friend. 

"  There,  you  little  fool  I"  t-aid  he.  "  The  father  is  a  rascal  but 
the  boy  is  a  fine  fellow  ;  and  you,  you  little  silly  thing,  I  must 
help  in  this  business  myself,  or  you  will  go  and  ruin  yourself,  I 
know  you  will  !  Offer  this  to  the  fellow  for  his  bill.  Or,  stay  ! 
How  much  money  is  there  in  the  house  ?  Perhaps  the  sight  of 
notes  and  gold  will  tempt,  him  more,  than  a  check."  And  the 
doctor  emptied  his  pockets  of  all  the  fees  which  happened  to  be 
therein — 1  don't  know  how  many  fees  of  shining  shillings  and 
sovereigns,  neatly  wrapped  up  in  paper ;  and  he  emptied  a  drawer 
in  which  there  was  more  silver  and  gold;  and  he  trotted  up  to 
his  bedroom,  and  came  panting  presently  down  stairs  with  a  fat 
little  pocket-book  containing  a  bundle  of  notes,  and,  with  one 
thing  or  another,  he  made  up  a  sum  of — I  won't  mention  what; 
but  this  sum  of  money,  I  say,  he  thrust*  into  the  Little  Sister's 
hand,  and  said,  u  Try  the  fellow  with  this,  Little  Sister,  and  see 
if  you  can  get  the.  bill  from  him.  Don't  say  it 's  my  money,  or 
the  scoundrel  will  be  for  having  twenty  shillings  in  the  pound. 
Say  it 's  yours,  and  there  's  no  more  where  that  came  from  ;  and 
coax  him,  and  wheedle  him,  and  tell  him  plenty  of  lies,  my  dear. 
It  wont  break  your  heart  to  do  that.  What  an  immortal  scoun- 
drel Brummell  Firmin  is,  to  be  sure  !  Though,  by  the  way,  in 
two  more  cases  at  the  hospital  I  have  tried  that — "  And  here 
the  doctor  went  off  into  a  professional  conversation  with  his  fa- 
vorite nurse,  which  I  could  not  presume  to  repeat  to  any  non- 
medical man. 

The  Little  Sister  bade  God  bless  Doctor  Goodenough,  and 
wiped  her  glistening  eyes  with  her  handkerchief,  and  put  away 
the  notes  and  gold  with  a  trembling  little  hand,  and  trudged  otF 
with  a  lightsome  step  and  a  happy  heart.  Arrived  at  Tottenham 
Court  Road,  she  thought,  shall  Lgo  home,  or  shall  I  go  to  poor 
Mrs.  Philip  and  take  her  this  money  V  No.  Their  talk  thai 
very  day  had  not.  been  pleasant  :  words,  very  like  high  words, 
had  parsed  between  them,  and  our  Little  Sister  had  to  own  to 
herself  that  she  had  been  rather  rude  in  her  late  colloquy  with 
Charlotte.     And  she  was  a  proud  Little  Sister:  at  least  she  did 


438  THE    ADVENTURES    OP    PHILIP 

not  care  for  to  own  that  she  had  been  hasty  or  disrespectful  in 
her  conduct  to  that  young  woman.  She  had  too  much  spirit  for 
that.  Have  we  ever  said  that  our  little  friend  was  exempt  from 
the  prejudices  and  vanities  of  this  wicked  world?  Well,  to 
rescue  Philip,  to  secure  the  fatal  bill,  to  go  with  it  to  Charlotte, 
and  say,  "  There,  Mrs.  Philip,  there  's  your  husband's  liberty." 
It  would  be  a  rare  triumph,  that  it  would !  And  Philip  would 
promise,  on  his  honor,  that  this  should  be  the  last  and  only  bill 
he  would  pay  for  that  wretched  old  father.  With  these  happy 
thoughts  swelling  in  her  little  heart,  Mrs/  Brandon  made  her 
way  to  the  familiar  house  in  Thornhaugh  street,  and  would  have 
a  little  bit  of  supper,  so  she  would.  And  laid  her  own  little 
cloth ;  and  set  forth  her  little  forks  and  spoons,  which  were  as 
bright  as  rubbing  could  make  them ;  and  I  am  authorized  to  state 
that  her  repast  consisted  of  two  nice  little  lamb-chops,  which  she 
purchased  from  her  neighbor  Mr.  Chump,  in  Tottenham  Court 
Road,  after  a  pleasant  little  conversation  with  that  gentleman 
and  his  good  lady.  And,  with  her  bit  of  .supper,  after  a  day's 
work,  our  little  friend  would  sometimes  indulge -in  a  glass — a  lit- 
tle glass — of  something  comfortable.  The  case-bottle  was  in  the 
cupboard,  out  of  which  her  poor  pa  had  been  wont  to  mix  his 
tumblers  for  many  a  long  day.  So,  having  prepared  it  with  her 
own  hands,  down  she  sat  to  her  little  meal,  tired  and  happy;  and 
as  she  thought  of  the  occurrences  of  the  day,  and  of  the  rescue 
which  had  come  so  opportunely  to  her  beloved  Philip  and  his 
children,  I  am  sure  she  said  a  grace  before  her  meat. 

Her  candles  being  lighted  and  her  blind  up,  any  one  in  the 
street  could  see  that  her  chamber  was  occupied  :  and  at  about 
ten  o'clock  at  night  there  came  a  heavy  step  clinking  along  the 
pavement,  the  sound  of  which,  I  have  no  doubt,  made  the  Little 
Sister  start  a  little.  The  heavy  foot  paused  before  her  window, 
and  presently  clattered, up  the  steps  of  her  door.  Then,  as  her 
bell  rang,  I  consider  it  is  most  probable  that  her  cheek  flushed  a 
little.  She  Avent  to  her  hall-door  and  opened  it  herself.  "  Lor, 
is  it  you,  Mr.  Hunt  V  Well,  I  never  !  that  is,  I  thought  you 
might  come.  Really,  now  " — and  with  the  moonlight  behind 
him,  the  dingy  Hunt  swaggered  in. 

"  How  comfortable  you  looked  at  your  little  table  !"  says  Hunt, 
with  his  hat  over  his  eye. 

"  Won't  you  step  in  and  set  down  to  it,  and  take  something?" 
asks  the  smiling  hostess. 

Of  course,  Hunt  would  take  something.  And  the  greasy  hat 
is  taken  off  his  head  with  a  flourish,  and  he  struts  into  the  poor 
Little  Sister's  little  room,  pulling  a  wisp  of  grizzling  hair  and 
endeavoring  to  assume  a  careless,  fashionable  look.  The  dingy 
hand  had  seized  the  case-bottle  in  a  moment.  "  What !  you  do 
a  little  in  this  way,  do  you  ?"  he  says,  and  winks  amiably  at 
Mrs.  Brandon  and   the    bottle.     She   takes  ever  so   little,  she 


ON    HI8    WAY    THPOUOH    THE    WORLD. 

owns  ;  and  reminds  him  of  days  which  ho  must  remember,  when 
she  had  a  wine-glass  out  of  poor  pa's  tumbler.  A  bright  little, 
kettle  is  singing  on  the  fire — will  not  Mr.  Hunt  mix  a  glass  for 
himself?  She  takes  a  bright  beaker  from  the  eornej'-cupboard, 
which  is  near  her,  with  her  keys  hanging  from  it. 

*  Oh,  ho  !  that  'fl  where  we,  keep  the  ginnums,  is  it  ?"  saysfhe 
grateful  Hunt,  with  a  laugh. 

"  My  papa  always  kep  it  there,"  says  Caroline,  meekly.  And 
while  her  back  is  turned  to  fetch  a  canister  from  the  cupboard, 
she  knows  that  the  astute  Mr.  Hunt  has  taken  the  opportunity  to 
fill  a  good  large  measure  from  the  square  bottle.  *'  Make  your- 
self welcome,"  says  the  Little  Sister  in  her  gay,  artless  way; 
"  there  's  more  where  that  came  from  !*'  And  Hunt  drinks  his 
hostess'  health;  and  she  bows  to  him,  and  smiles,  and  sips  a 
little  from  her  own  glass  ;  and  the  little  lady  looks  quite  pretty, 
and  rosy,  and  bright.  Her  cheeks  are  like  apples,  her  figure  is 
trim  and  graceful,  and  always  attired  in  the  neatest-fitting  gown. 
By  the  comfortable  light  of  the  candles  on  her  sparkling  tables 
you  scarce  see  the  silver  lines  in  her  light  hair,  or  the  marks 
which  time  has  made  round  her  eyes.  Hunt  gazed  on  her  with 
admiration. 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  I  vow  you  look  younger  and  prettier  than 
when — when  I  saw  you  first." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Hunt!"  cries  Mrs.  Brandon,  with  a  flush  on  her 
cheek,  which  becomes  it,  "  don't  recall  that  time,  or  that — that 
wretch  who  served  me  so  cruel !" 

k'  He  was  a  scoundrel,  Caroline,  to  treat  as  he  did  such  a 
woman  as  you  !  The  fellow  has  no  principle  ;  he  was  a  bad  one 
from  the  beginning.  Why,  he  ruined  me  as  well  as  vou ;  2ot 
me  to  play  ;  run  me  into  debt  by  introducing  me  to  his  fine 
companions.  I  was  a  simple  young  fellow  then,  and  thought  it 
was  a  fine  thing  to  live  with  fellow-commoners  and  noblemen 
who  drove  their  tandems  and  gave  their  grand  dinners.  It  was 
he  that  led  me  astray,  I  tell  you.  I  might  have  been  Fellow  of 
my  college — had  a  living — married  a  good  wife — risen  to  be  a 
bishop,  by  George  ! — for  I  had  great  talents,  Caroline;  only  I 
was  so  confounded  idle,  and  fond  of  the  cards  and  the  bones." 

"  The  bones  V"  cries  Caroline,  with  a  bewildered  look. 

"The  dice,  my  dear!  'Seven's  the  main '  was  my  ruin. 
1  Seven  's«the  main'  and  eleven  ?s  the  nick  to  se»ven.  That  used 
to  be  the  little  game  !"  And  he  made  a  graceful  gesture  with  his. 
empty  wine-glass,  as  though  he  was  tossing  a  pair  of  dice  on  the 
table.  "  The  man  next  to  me  in  lecture,  is  a  bishop  now,  arid  I 
could  knoek  his  head  off  in  Greek  iambics  and  Latin  hexameters, 
too.  In  my  second  year  I  got  the  Latin  declamation  prize,  I 
tell  you—"      * 

"  Brandon  always  said  }ou  were  one  of  the  cleverest  men  at 
the  college.  He  always  said  that,  I  remember,"  remarks  the  lady, 
\ery  respectfully. 


440  THE   ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

"  Did  he  ?  He  did  say  a  good  word  for  me,  then  ?  Brummell 
Firmin  was  n't  a  clever  man  ;  he  was  n't  a  reading  man.  Where- 
as I  would  back  myself  for  a  Sapphic  ode  against  any  man  in 
my  college- — against  any  man!  Thank  you.  You  do  mix  it  so 
uncommon  hot  and  well,  there's  no  saying  no;  indeed  there 
ain't!     Though  I  have  had  enough — upon  my  honor,  I  have." 

"Lor!  I  thought  you  men  could  drink  anything!  And  Mr. 
Brandon — Mr.  Firmin  you  said  V" 

"  Well,  I  said  Brummell  Firmin  was  a  swell  somehow.  He 
had  a  sort  of  grand  manner  with  him — " 

"  Yes,  he  had,"  sighed  Caroline.  And  I  dare  say  her  thoughts 
wondered  back  to  a  time  long,  Ion*  ago,  when  this  grand  gentle- 
man had  captivated  her. 

"And  it  was  trying  to  keep  up  with  him  that  ruined  me  !  I 
quarrelled  with  my  poor  old  governor  about  money,  of  course ; 
grew  idle,  and  lost  ray  Fellowship.  Then  the  bills  came  down 
upon  me.  -I  tell  you  there  are  some  of  my  college  ticks  ain't 
paid  now.'' 

"  College  ticks  ?     Law!"  ejaculates  the  lady.'    "And — -" 

"  Tailor's  ticks,  tavern  ticks,  livery-stable  ticks — for  there 
were  famous  hacks  in  our  days,  and  I  used  to  hunt  with  the  tip- 
top men.  I  was  n't  bad  across  country,  I  was  n't.  But  we  can't 
keep  the  pace  with  those  rich  fellows.  We  try,  and  they  go 
ahead — they  ride  us  down.  Do  you  think,  if  I  had  n't  been 
very  hard  up,  I  would  have  done  what  I  did  to  you,  Caroline  ? 
You  poor  little  innocent  suffering  thing.  It  was  a  shame.  It 
was  a  shame  !" 

"  Yes,  a  shame  it  was !"  cries  Caroline.  "And  that  I  never 
gainsay.     You  did  deal  hard  with  a  poor  girl,  both  of  you." 

"It  was  rascally.  But  Firmin  was  the  worst.  He  had  me  in 
his  power.  It  was  he  led  me  wrong.  It  was  he  drove  me  into 
debt,  and  then  abroad,  and  then  into  qu —  into  jail,  perhaps: 
and  then  into  this  kind  of  thing.''  ("This  kind  of  thing"  has 
before  been  explained  elegantly  to  signify  a  tumbler  of  hot  grog.) 
"  And  my  father  would  n't  see  me  on  his  death-bed ;  and  my 
brothers  and  sisters  broke  with  me ;  and  I  owe  it  all  to  Brum- 
mell Firmin — all.  Do  you  think,  after  ruining  me,  he  ought  n't 
to  pay  rue?"  and  again  he  thumps  a  dusky  hand  upon  the  table. 
It  made  dingy  marks  on  the  poor  Little  Sister  s  spotless  table- 
cloth.    It  rubbed  its  owner's  forehead  and  lank,  grizzling  hair. 

"And  me,  Mr.  Hunt?  What  do  he  owe  me?"  asks" Hunt's 
hostess. 

"  Caroline!-'  cries  Hunt,  u  I  have  made  Brummell  Firmin  pay 
me  a  good  bit  back  already,  but  1  '11  have  more;''  and  he  thumped 
his  breast,  and  thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast-pocket  as  he  spoke, 
and  clutched  at  something  within.  ' 

u  It  is  there !"  thought  Caroline.  She  might  turn  pale;  but 
he  did  not  remark  her  pallor.  He  was  all  intent  on  drink,  on 
vanity,  on  revenge. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  441 

**  1  have  him."  I  say.  u  He  owes  me  a  good  bit ;  and  he  lias 
paid  me  a  good  bit ;  and  he  shall  pay  me  a  good  bit  more.  Do  * 
you  think  I  am  a  fellow  who  will  be  ruined  and  insulted,  and 
won't  revenge  myself?  You  should  have  seen  his  face  when  I 
turned  up  at  New  York  at  the  Astor  House,  and  said,  'Brurn- 
mell,  old  fellow,  here  I  am,'  I  said  ;  and  he  turned  as  white — as 
white  as  this  table-cloth.  '77/  never  leave  you,  my  boy,'  I  said. 
[  Other  fellows  may  go  from  you,  but  old  Tom  Hunt  will  stick  to 
you.  Lets  go  into  the  bar  and  have  a  drink!'  and  he  was 
obliged  to  come.  And  I  have  him  now  in  my  power,  I  tell  you 
And  when  I  say  to  him,  4Brummell,  have  a  drink,'  drink  he 
must.  His  bald  old  head  must  go  into  the  pail !"  And  Mr. 
Hunt  laughed  a  laugh  which  I  dare  say  was  not  agreeable. 

After  a  pause  he  went  on  :  "  Caroline  !  Do  you  hate  him,  I 
say  ?  or  do  you  like  a  fellow  who  deserted  you  and  treated  you 
like  a  scoundrel  ?  Some  women  do.  I  could  tell  of  women 
who  do.  I  could  tell  you  of  other  fellows,  perhaps,  but  I  won't. 
Do  you  hate  Brummell  Firmin,  that  bald-headed  Brum — hypo- 
crite, and  that — that  insolent  rascal  who  laid  his  hand  on  a  cler- 
gyman, and  an  old  man,  by  George,  and  hit  me — and  hit  me  in 
that  street.  Do  you  hate  him,  I  say  V  Hoo  !  hoo  1  hick  !  I  've 
got  'em  both! — here,  in  my  pocket — both  !" 

"You  have  got — what?"  gasped  Caroline. 

'■I  have  got  their — hallo  !  stop,  what 's  that  to  you  what  I  've 
got  V"  And  he  sinks  back  in  his  chair,  and  winks,  and  leers, 
and  triumphantly  tosses  his  glass. 

"  Well,  it  ain't  much  to  me ;  I — I  never  got  any  good  out  of 
either  of  'em  yet,"  says  poor  Caroline,  with  a  sinking  heart. 
"  Let 's  talk  about  somebody  else  than  them  two  plagues.  Be- 
cause you  were  a  little  merry  one  night — and  I  don't  mind  Avhat 
a  gentleman  says  when  he  has  had  a  glass — for  a  great  big  strong 
man  to  hit  an  old  one — " 

"  To  strike  a  clergyman  !"  yells  Hunt. 

u  It  was  a  shame — a  cowardly  shame !  And  I  gave  it  him  for 
it,  I  promise  you  !"  cries  Mrs.  Brandon. 

"  On  your  honor,  now,  do  you  hate  'em?"  cries  Hunt,  starting 
up,  and  clenching  his  fist,  and  dropping  again  into  his  chair. 

"  Have  I  any  reason  tolove  'em,  Mr.  Hunt?  Do  sit  down  and 
have  a  little — " 

"  No :  you  have  no  reason  to  like  'em.  You  hate  'em — I  hate 
'em.  Look  here.  Promise — 'pon  your  honor,  now,  Caroline — 
I've  got  'em  both,  I  tell  you.  Strike  a  clergyman,  will  he? 
What  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

And  starting  from  his  chair  once  more,  and  supporting  him- 
self against  the  wall  (where  hung  one  of  J.  J.'s  pictures  of  Phi- 
lip), Hunt  pulls  out  the  greasy  pocket-book  once  more,  and 
fumbles  among  the  greasy  contents;  and  as  the  papers  flutter  on 
to  the  floor  and  the  table,  he  pounces  down  on  one  with  a  dingy 
38 


442  THK    ADVENTUKE8    OF    PHILIP 

hand,  and  yells  a  laugh,  and  says,  "  T  'ye  cotehed  you  !  That 's 
it.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?— London,  July  4th.— Three 
months  after  date,  I  promise  to  pay  to— No  you  don't." 

"La!  Mr.  Hunt,  won't  you  let  me  look  at  it?"  cries  the 
hostess.  "  Whatever  is  it  ?  A  bill  ?  My  pa  had  plenty  of 
>em." 

"  What?  with  candles  in  the  room  ?     No  you  don't,  1  say." 

"  What  is  it  ?     Won't  you  tell  me  ?" 

<#Jt  's  the  young  one's  acceptance  of  the  old  man's  draft,"  says 
Hunt,  hissing  and  laughing. 

"  For  how  much  ?" 

"  Three  hundred  and  eighty-six  four  three — that 's  all ;  and  I 
guess  I  can  get  more  where  that  came  from !"  says  Hunt,  laugh- 
ing more  and  more  cheerfully. 

"What  will  you  take  for  it?  I'll  buy  it  of  you,"  cries  the 
Little  Sister.  "  I — I  've  seen  plenty  of  my  pa's  bills ;  and  I  '11— 
I  '11  discount  this,  if  you  like." 

"What!  are  you  a  little  discounter?  Is  that  the  way  you 
make  your  money,  and  the  silver  spoons,  aud  the  nice  supper, 
and  everything  delightful  about  you?  A  little  discountess,  are 
you,  you  little  rogue  ?  -  Little  discountess,  by  George  !  How 
much  will  you  give,  little  discountess  ?"  And  the  reverend  gen- 
tleman laughs,  and  winks,  and  drinks,  and  laughs,  aird  tears 
twinkle  out  of  his  tipsy  old  eyes  as  he  wipes  them  with  one  hand, 
and  again  says,  "  How  much  will  you  give,  little  discountess?" 

WThen  poor  Caroline  went  to  her  cupboard,  and  from  it  took 
the  notes  and  the  gold  which  she  had  had  we  know  from  whom, 
and  addend  to  these  out  of  a  cunning  box  a  little  heap  of  her  own 
private  savings,  and  with  trembling  bands  poured  the  notes,  and 
the  sovereigns,  and  the  shillings  into  a  dish  on  the  table,  I  never 
heard  accurately  how  much  she  laid  down.  But  she  must  have 
spread  out  everything  she  had  in  the  world ;  for  she  felt  her 
pockets  and  emptied  them;  and,  tapping  her  head,  she  again 
applied  to  the  cupboard,  and  took  from  thence  a  little  store 
of  spoons  and  forks,  and  then  a  brooch,  and  then  a  watch  ;  and 
she  piled  these  all  up  in  a  dish,  and  she  said,  "  Now,  Mr.  Hunt, 
I  will  give  you  all  these  for  that  bill."  And  she  looked  up  at 
Philip's  picture,  which  hung  over  the"  parson's  bloodshot,  satyr 
face.  "  Take  these,"  she  said,  "  and  give  me  that !  There' 's 
two  hundred  pound,  I  know  ;  and  there's  thirty-fcur,  and  two 
eighteen,  thirty-six  eighteen,  and  there  's  the  plate  and  watch, 
and  J  want  that  bill."  . 

41  What  ?  Have  you  got  all  this,  you  little  dear  ?  '  cried  Hunt, 
dropping  back  into  his  chair  again.  "  Why,  you  're  a  little  fort- 
une, by  Jove— a  pretty  little  fortune,  a  little  discountess,  a 
little  wife,  a  little  fortune.  I  say,  I  'm  a  University  man  ;  I  could 
write  alcaics  once  as  well  as  any  man.  I  'm  a  gentleman.  I 
say,  how  much  have  you  got  ?     Count  it  over  again,  my  dear." 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  443 

And  again  she  told  him  the  amount  of  the  gold,  and  the  notes, 
and  the  silver,  and  the  number  of  the  poor  little  spoons. 

A  thought  came  across  the  fellow's  boozy  brain  :  "  If  you  offer 
so  much,"  says  he,  "  and  you  're  a  little  discounter  the  bill's 
worth  more;  that  fellow  must  be  making  his  fortune!  Or  do 
you  know  about  it?  I  say,  do  you  know  about  it  ?.  No.  I  '11 
have  my  bond."  And  he  gave  a  tipsy  imitation  of  Shyloek,  and 
lurched  back  into  his  chair,  and  laughed. 

"  Let 's  have  a  little  more,  and  talk  about  things,"  said  the  poor 
Little  Sister;  and  she  daintily  heaped  her  little  treasures  and 
arranged  them  in  her  dish,  and  smiled  upon  the  parson  laughing 
in  his  chair. 

"  Caroline,"  says  he,  after  a  pause,  "  you  are  still  fond  of  that 
old  bald-headed  scoundrel !  That's  it!  Just  like  you  women — 
just  like,  but  I  won't  tell !  No,  no,  I  won't  tell.  You  are  fond 
of  that  old  swindler  still,.!  say !  Wherever  did  you  get  that  lot 
of  money  ?  Look  here,  now — with  that,  and  this  little  bill  in  my 
pocket,  there  's  enough  to  carry  us  on  for  ever  so  long.  And 
when  this  money  's  gone,  I  tell  you  I  know  who  11  give  us  more, 
and  who  can't  refuse  us,  I  tell  you.  Look  here,  "Caroline,  dear 
Caroline!  I'm  an  old  fellow,  I  know;  but  I  'm  a  good  fellow: 
I  'm  a  classical  scholar :  and  I  'm  a  gentleman." 

The  classical  scholar  and  gentleman  bleared  over  his  words  as 
lie  uttered  them,  and  with  his  vinous  eyes  and  sordid  face  gave  a 
leer,  must  have  frightened  the  poor  little  lady  to  whom  he 
prolFered  himself  as  a  suitor,  for  she  started  back  with  a  pallid 
face,  and  an  aspect  of  such  dislike  and  terror  that  even  her  guest 
remarked  it. 

"  I  said  I  was  a  scholar  and  gentleman,"  he  shrieked  again. 
"  Do  you  doubt  it  ?  I  'm  as  good  a  man  as  Brummell  Firmin,  I 
say.  1  ain't  so  tall.  But  I  '11  do  a  copy  of  Latin  alcaics  or  Greek 
iambics  against  him  or  any  man  of  my  weight.  Do  you  mean 
to  insult  me  I  Don't  1  know  who  you  are  ?  Are  you  bet- 
ter than  a  Master  of  Arts  and  »  clergyman?  He  went  out  in 
medicine,  Firmin  did.  Do  you  mean,  when  a  Master  of  Arts 
and  classical  scholar  offers  you  his  hand  and  fortune,  that  you  're 
above  him,  and  refuse  him,  by  George?" 

The  Little  Sister  was  growing  bewildered  and  frightened  by 
the  man's  energy  and  horrid  looks.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Hunt,"  she  cried, 
"  see  here,  take  this !  See — there  are  two  hundred  and  thirty — 
thirty-four  pounds,  and  all  these  things  !  Take  them,  and  give 
me  that  paper." 

"  Sovereigns,  and  notes,  and  spoons,  and  a  watch,  and  what  I 
have  in  my  pocket — and  that  ain't  much — and  Firmin's  bill. 
Three  hundred  and  eighty-six  lour  three.  It's  a  fortune,  my 
dear,  with  economy  !  1  won't  have  you  going  on  being  a  nurse 
and  that  kind  of  thing.  I  'm  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman — I  am — 
and  that  place  ain't  fit  for  Mrs.  Hunt.     We  '11  first  spend  your 


444  THU   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

money.  No:  we  '11  first  spend  my  money — three  hundred  and 
eighty-six  and — and  hang  the  change — and  when  that 's  gone, 
we  '11  have  another  bill  from  that  bald-headed  old  scoundrel :  and 
his  son  who  struck  a  poor  cler—  We  will,  I  say,  Caroline — we — " 

The  wretch  was  suiting  actions  to  his  words,  and  rose  once 
more,  advancing  toward  his  hostess,  who  shrank  back,  laughing 
half-hysterically,  and  retreating  as  the  other  neared  her.  Behind 
her  was  that  cupboard  which  had  contained  her  poor  little 
treasure  and  other  stores,  and  appended  to  the  lock  of  which  her 
keys  were  still  hanging.  As  the  brute  approached  her  she  flung 
back  the  cupboard-door  smartly  upon  him.  The  keys  struck 
him  on  the  head ;  and  bleeding,  and  with  a  curse  and  a  cry,  he 
fell  back  on  his  chair. 

In  the  cupboard  was  that  bottle  which  she  had  received  from 
America  not  long  since,  and  about  which  she  had  talked  with 
Goodenough  on  that  very  day.  It  had  been  used  twice  or  thrice 
by  his  direction,  by  hospital  surgeons,  under  her  eye.  She  sud- 
denly seized  this  bottle.  As  the  ruffian  before  .her  uttered  his 
imprecations  of  wrath,  she  poured  out  a  quantity  of  the  contents 
of  the  bottle  on  her  handkerchief.  She  said,  "  Oh  !  Mr.  Hunt, 
have  I  hurt  you  V  I  did  n't  mean  it.  But  you  should  n't — you 
should  n't  frighten  a  lonely  woman  so  !  Here,  let  me  bathe  you  ! 
Smell  this!  It  will — it  will  do  you— good — it  will — it  will,  in- 
deed ! '  The  handkerchief  was  over  his  face.  Bewildered  by  drink 
before,  the'  fumes  of  the  liquor  which  he  was  absorbing  served 
almost  instantly  to  overcome  him.  *  He  struggled  for  a  moment 
or  two.  "  Stop — stop !  you  '11  be  better  in  a  moment,"  she 
whispered.  "  Oh  yes !  better,  quite  better  .!"  She  squeezed 
more  of  the  liquor  from  the  bottle  on  to  the  handkerchief.  In  a 
minute  Hunt  was  quite  inanimate. 

Then  the  little  pale  woman  leaned  over  him  and  took  the 
pocket-book  out  of  his  pocket,  and  from  it  the  bill  which  bore 
Philip's  name.  As  Hunt  lay  in  stupor  before  her,  she  now 
squeezed  more  of  the  liquor  over  his  head ;  and  then  thrust  the 
bill  into  the  fire,  and  saw  it  burn  to  ashes.  Then  she  put  back 
the  pocket-book  into  Hunt's  breast.  She  said  afterward  that  she 
never  should  have  thought  about  that  chloroform,  but  for  her 
brief  conversation  with  Dr.  Goodenough  that  evening  regarding 
a  case  in  which  she  had  employed  the  new  remedy  under  his 
orders. 

How  long  did  Hunt  lie  in  that  stupor?  It  seemed  a  whole 
long  night  to  Caroline.  She  said  afterward  that  the  thought  of 
that  act  that  night  made  her  hair  grow  gray.  Poor  little  head  !. 
Indeed  she  would  have  laid  it  down  for  Philip. 
I-  Hunt,  I  suppose,  came  to  himself  when  the  handkerchief  was 
withdrawn,  and  the  fumes  of  the  potent  liquor  ceased  to  work^on 
his  brain.  He  was  very  much  frightened  and  bewildered. 
"  What  was  it  ?     Where  am  I  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  husky  voice. 


on  his  way  through:  thb  world.  445 

"  It  was  the  keys  struck  you  in  the  cupboard-door  when  you — 
you  ran  against  it,''  said  pale  Caroline.  "  Look  !  you  are  all 
bleeding  on  the  head.     Let  me  dry  it." 

"  No  ;  keep  off!"  cried  the  terrified  man. 

"  Will  you  have  a  cab  to  go  home  ?  The  poor  gentleman  hit 
himself  against  the  cupboard-door,  Mary.  You  remember  him 
here  before,  don't  you,  one  night  ?"  And  Caroline,  with  a  shrug, 
pointed  out  to  her  maid,  whom  she  had  summoned,  the  great 
square  bottle  of  spirits  still  on  the  table,  and  indicated  that  there 
lay  the  cause  of  Hunt's  bewilderment. 

"Are  you  better  now  ?  Will  you — will  you — take  a  little 
more  refreshment  ?"  asked  Caroline. 

"  No  1  he  cried,  with  an  oath,  arid  with"glaring,  bloodshot 
eyes  he  lurched  toward  his  hat. 

"  Lor,  mum  !  whatever  is  it  ?  And  this  smell  in  the  room, 
and  all  this  here  heap  of  money  and  things  on  the  table  r" 

Caroline  flung  open  iter  window.  "  It 's  medicine  which  Dr. 
Goodenough  has  ordered  for  one  of  his  patients.  I  must  go  and 
see  her  to-night,"  she  said.  And  at  midnight,  looking  as  pale  as 
death,  the  Little  Sister  went  to  the  doctor's  house  and  roused 
him  from  his  bed  and^told  him  the  story  here  narrated.  u  I 
offered  him  all  you  gave  me,"  she  said,  "  and  all  I  had  in  the 
world  besides,  and  he  would  n't — and — "  Here  she  broke  out 
into  a  fit  of  hysterics.  The  doctor  had  to  ring  up  his  servants ; 
to  administer  remedies  to  his  little  nurse ;  to  put  her  to  bed  in 
his  own  house. 

"  By  the^immortal  Jove,"  he""said  afterward,  "  I  had  a  great 
mind  to  beg  her  never  to  leave  it !  But  that  my  housekeeper 
would  tear  Caroline's  eyes  out,  Mrs.  Brandon  should  be  welcome 
to  stay  for  ever.  Except  her  A's,  that  woman  has  every  virtue : 
constancy,,  gentleness,  generosity,  cheerfulness,  and  the  courage 
of  a  lioness  !  To  think  of  that  fool,  that  dandified  idiot,  that 
triple  ass,  Fifmin  "  (there  were  few  men  in  the  world  for  whom 
Goodenough  entertained  a  greater  scorn  than  for  his  late  confrere, 
Firmin,  of  Old  Parr  street) — u  think  of  the  villain  having  pos- 
sessed such  a  treasure — let  alone  his  having  deceived  and  desert- 
ed her — of  his  having  possessed  such  a  treasure  and  flung  it 
away  !  Sir,  I  always  admired  Mrs.  Brancton  ;  but  I  think  ten 
thousand  times  more  highly  of  her  since  her  glorious  crime  and 
most  righteous  robbery.  If  the  villain  had  died,  dropped  dead 
in  the  street — the  drunken  miscreant,  forger,  house-breaker, 
assassin — so  that  no  punishment  could  have  fallen  upon  poor 
Brandon,  I  think  I  should  have  respected  her  only  the  more  1" 

At  an  early  hour  Dr.  Goodenough  had  thought  proper  to  send 
off  messengers  to  Philip  and  myself,  and  to  make  us  acquainted 
with  the  strange  adventure  of  the  previous  nignt.  We  both 
hastened  to  him.     I  myself  was  summoned,  no  doubt,  in  conse- 


THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIl' 

quince  of  my  profound  legal  knowledge,  which  uaisrht  be  of  use 
in  poor  little  Caroline's  present  trQuble.  And  Philip  came 
because  she  longed  to  see  him.  By  some  instinct  she  knew  when 
he  arrived.  She  crept  down  from  the  chamber  where  the 
doctor's  housekeeper  had  laid  her  on  a  bed.  She  knocked  at 
the  doctor's  study  where  we  were  all  in  consultation.  She  came 
in  quite  pale,  and  tottered  toward  Philip,  and  flung  herself  into 
his  arms,  with  a  burst  of  tears  that  greatly  relieved  her  excite- 
ment and  fever.     Firmin  was  scarcely  less  moved. 

"  You  '11  pardon  me  for  what  I  have  done,  Philip  ?"  she 
sobbed.     "  If  they — if  they  take  me  up,  you  won't  forsake  me  ¥" 

"  Forsake^  you  V  Pardon  you  V  Come  and  live  with  us,  and 
never  leave  us  !"  cried  Philip. 

"  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Philip  would  like  that,  dear,"  said  the 
little  woman,  sobbing  on  his  arm;  "but  ever  since  the  Grey- 
friars  school,  when  you  was  so  ill,  you  have  been  like  a  son  to 
me,  and  somehow  I  could  n't  help  doing  that  last  night  to  that 
villain — I  could  n't." 

"  Serve  the  scoundrel  right.  Never  deserved  to  come  to  life 
.again,  my  dear,"  said  Dr.  Goodenough.  "  Don't  you  be  exciting 
yourself,  little  Brandon  I  I  must  have  you  sent  back  to  lie  down 
on  your  bed.  Take  her  up,  Philip,  to  the  little  room  next  mine, 
and  order  her  to  lie  down  and  be  as  quiet  as  a  mouse.  You  are 
not  to  move  till  I  give  you  leave,  Brandon — mind  that ;  and  come 
back  to  us,  Firmin,  or  we  shall  have  the  patients  coming." 

So  Philip  led  away  this  poor  Little  Sister;  and  trembling,  and 
clinging  to  his  arm,  she  returned  to  the  room  assigned  to  her. 

"  She  wants  to  be  alone  with  him,"  the  doctor  said ;  and 
he  spoke  a  biief  word  or  two  of  that  strange  delusion  under 
which  the  little  woman  labored,  that  this  was  her  dead  child 
come  back  to  her, 

"  I  know  that  is  in  her  mind,"  Goodenough  said  ;  "  she  never 
got  over  that  brain-fever  in  which  I  found  her.  If  I  were  to 
swear  her  on  the  book,  and  say,  *  Brandon,  don't  you  believe  he 
is  your  son  alive  again  ?*  she  would  not  dare  to  say  no.  She 
will  leave  him  everything  she  has  got.  I  only  gave  her  so  much 
less  than  that  scoundrel's  bill  yesterday,  because  I  knew  she 
would  like  to  contribute  her  own  share.  It  would  have  offended 
her  mortally  to  have  beenfleft  out  of  tlie  subscription.  They 
like  to  sacrifice  themselves.  Why,  there  are  women  in  India 
who,  if  not  allowed  to  roast  with  their  dead  husbands,  would  die 
of  vexation."  And  by  this  time  Mr.  Philip  came  striding  back 
into  the  room  again,  rubbing  a  pair  of  very  red  eyes. 

"  Long  ere  this,  no  doubt,  that  drunken  ruffian  is  sobered,  and 
knows  that  the  bill  is  gone.  He  is  likely  enough  to  accuse  her 
of  the  robbery,"  says  the  doctor. 

*'  Suppose,"  says  Philip's  other  friend,  "  I  had  put  a  pistol  to 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THK    WORLD.  447 

your  head,  and  was  going  to  shoot  you,  and  the  doctor  took  the 
pistol  out  of  raj  hand  and  flung  it  into  the  sea  ?  would  you  help 
me  to  prosecute  the  doctor  for  robbing  me  of  the  pistol '?" 

"  You  don't  suppose  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  td*pay  that 
bill  !"  said  Philip.  "  I  said  if  a  certain  bill  was  presented  to  me, 
purporting  ^o  be  -accepted  by  Philip  Firmin,  1  would  pay  it. 
But  if  that  scoundrel,  Hunt,  only  says  that  he  had  such  a  bill, 
and  has  lost  it,  I  will  cheerfully  take  my  oath  that  I  have  never 
signed  any  bill  at  all — and  they  can't  find  Brandon  guilty  of 
stealing  a  thing  which  never  existed.'' 

"  Let  us  hope,  then,  that  the  bill  was  not  in  duplicate." 

And  to  this  wish  all  three  gentlemen  heartily  said  Amen  ! 

And  now  the  doctor's  door-bell  began  to  be  agitated  by  arriv- 
ing patients.  His  dining-room  was  already  full  of  them.  The 
Little  Sister  must  lie  still,  and  the  discussion  of  her  aiFairs  must 
be  deferred  to  a  more  convenient  hour ;  and  Philip  aud  his 
friend  agreed  to  reconnoitre  the  house  in  Thornhaugh  street  and 
see  if  anything  had  happened  since  its  mistress  had  left  it. 

Yes  ;  something  had  happened.  Mrs.  Brandon's  maid,  who 
ushered  us  into  her  mistress'  little  room,  told  us  that  in  the  early 
morning  that  horrible  man  who  had  come  overnight,  and  been 
so  tipsy,  and  behaved  so  ill — the  very  same  man  who  had  come 
there  tip^y  afore  once,  and  whom  Mr.  Philip  had  flung  into  the 
street — had  come  battering  at  the  knocker,  and  pulling  at  the 
bell,  and  swearing  and  cursing  most  dreadful,  and  calling  for 
"Mrs.  Brandon!  Mrs.  Brandon!  Mrs.  Brandon!"  and  frighten- 
ing the  whole  street.  After  he  had  rung  he  knocked  and  bat- 
tered ever  so  long.  Mary  looked  out  at  him  from  her  upper 
window,  and  told  him  to  go  along  home,  or  she  would  call  the 
police.  On  this  the  man  roared  ou:  that  he  would  call  the 
police  himself  if  Mary  did  not  let  him  in  ;  and  as  he  went  on 
calling  "  Police!"  and  yelling  from  the  door,  Mary  came  down 
stairs  and  opened  the  hall-door,  keeping  the  chain  fastened,  and 
asked  him  what  he  wanted  V 

Hunt,  from  the  steps  without,  began  to  swear  and  rage  more 
loudly,  and  to  demand  to  be  let  in.  He  must  and  would^  see 
Mrs.  Brandon. 

Mary,  from  behind  her  chain  barricade,  said  that  her  mistress 
was  not  at  home,  but  that  she  had  been  called  out  that  night  to 
a  patient  of  Dv.  Goodenough's.  « 

Hunt,  with  more  shrieks"  and  curses,  said  it  was  a  lie  ;  and 
that  she  was  at  home  ;  and  that  he  would  see  her  ;  and  that  he 
must  go  into  her  room  ;  and  that  he  had  left  something  there  , 
that  he  had  lost  something  ;  and  that  he  would  have  it. 

•'■  Lost  something  here?"  cried  Mary.  "  Why  here?  jien 
you  reeled  out  of  this  house  you  could  n't  scarce  walk,  an^^ou 
almost  fell  into  the  gutter;  which  I  have  seen  you  there  before. 


448  THK    ADVENTURES    OF    PIIILIP 

Get  away,  and  go  home !     You  are  not  sober  yet,  you  horrible 


man 


.. !' 

On  this,  clinging  on  to  the  area-railings,  and  demeaning 
himself  like  a  madman,  Hunt  continued  to  call  out,  "  Police ! 
police !  I  have  been  robbed,  I  've  been  robbed  !  Police  !"  until 
astonished  heads  appeared  at  various  windows  in  the  quiet  street, 
and  a  policeman  actually  came  up. 

When  the  policeman  appeared  Hunt  began  to  sway  and  pull . 
at  the  door  confined  by  its  chain,  and  he  frantically  reiterated 
his  charge  that  he  had  been  robbed  and  hocussed  in  that  house, 
that  night,  by  Mrs.  Brandon. 

The  policeman,  by  a  familiar  expression,  conveyed  his  utter 
disbelief  of  the  statement,  aud  told  the  dirty,  disreputable  man 
to  move  on,  and  go**to  bed.  Mrs.  Brandon  was  known  and 
respected  all  round  the  neighborhood.  She  had  befriended 
numerous  poor  round  about,  and  was  known  for  a  hundred 
charities.  She  attended  many  respectable  families.  In  that 
parish  there  was  no  woman  more  esteemed.  And  by  the  word 
"Gammon"  the  policeman  expressed  his  sense  of  ihe  utter 
absurdity  pf  the  charge  against  the  good  lady. 

Hunt  still  continued  to  yell  out  that  he  had  been  robbed  and 
hocussed,  and  Mary  from  behind  her  door- repeated  to  the  officer 
(with  whom  she  perhaps  had  relations  not  unfriendly)  her  state- 
ment that  the  beast  had  gone  reeling  away  from  the  house  the 
night  before,  and  if  he  had  lost  anything,  who  knows  where  he 
might  not  have  lost  it  ?  , 

41  It  was  taken  out.  of  this  pocket,  and  out  of  this  pocket- 
book,"  howled  Hunt,  clinging  to'ihe  rail.  "  I  give  her  in  charge. 
I  <nve  the  house  in  charge  !     It  's  a  den  of  thieves !" 

During:  this  shouting  and  turmoil  the  sash  of  a  window  in 
Ridley's  studio  was  thrown  up.  The  painter,  was  going  to  his 
morning  work.  He  had  appointed  an  early  model.  The  sun 
could  not  rise  too  soon  for  Ridley,  and  as  soon  as  ever  it  gave 
its  light  found  him  happy  at  his  labor.  He  had  heard  from  his 
bedroom  the  brawl  going  on  about  the  door. 

"  Mr.  Ridley  !"  says  the  policeman,  touching  the  glazed  hat 
with*  much  respect — (in  fact,  and  out  of  uniform,  Z  25  has 
figured  in  more  than  one  of  J.  J.'s  pictures) — u  here  's  a  fellow 
disturbing  the  whole  street,  and  shouting  out  that  Mrs.  Brandon 
have  robbed  and  hocussed  him  !" 

Ridley  ran  down  s?airs  in  a  high  state  of  indignation.  He  is 
nervous,  like  men  of  his  tribe ;  quick  to  feel,  to  pity,  to  love,  to 
be  angry.     He  undid  the  chain  and  ran  into  the  street. 

"  I  remember  that  fellow  drunk  here  before,"  said  the  painter, 
"  and  hing  in  that  very  gutter." 

'^|unk  and  disorderly  !  Come  along  !"  cries  Z  25  ;  and  his 
hand  was  quickly  fastened  on  the  parson's  greasy  collar,  and 


ox  nis  way  through  the  world.  449 

under  its  strong  grasp  Hunt  is  forced  to  move  on.     He  gr>es, 
still  yelling  out  that  he  has  been  robbed. 

"  Tell  that  to  his  worship,"  says  the  incredulous  Z.  And  this 
was  the  news  which  Mrs.  Brandon's  friends  received  from  her 
maid  when  they  called  at  her  house. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

IN    WHICH    SKVKRAL    PEOPLE     HAVE    THEIR    TRIALS. 

If  Philip  and  his  friend  had  happened  to  pass  through  High 
street,  Marylcbone,  on  their  way  to  Thornhaugh  street  to  recon- 
noitre the  Little  Sister's  house,  they  would  have  seen  the  Rev- 
erend Mr.  Hunt,  in  a  very  dirty,  battered,  crestfallen,  and 
unsatisfactory  state,  marching  to  Marylebone  from  the  station, 
where  the  reverend  gentleman  had  passed  the  night,  and  under 
the  custody  of  the  police;.  A  convoy  of  street  boys  followed  the 
prisoner  and  his  guard,  making  sarcastic  remarks  on  both.  Hunt's 
appearance  was  not  improved  since  we  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  him  on  the  previous  evening.  With  a  grizzled  beard 
and  hair,  a  dingy  face,  a  dingy  shirt,  and  a  countenance  mottled 
with  dirt  and  drink,  we.  may  fancy  the  reverend  man  passing  in 
tattered  raiment  through  the  street  to  make  his  appearance  be- 
fore the  magistrate.  * 

You  have  no  doubt  forgotten  the  narrative  which  appeared  in 
the  morning  papers  two  days  after  the  Thornhaugh  street  inci- 
dent, but  my  clerk  has  been  at  the  pains  to  hunt  up  and  copy 
the  police  report,  in  which  events  connected  with  our  history  are 
briefly  recorded. 

-  "Marylebonk,  Wr(l/?fS(!a)/. — Thomas  Tufton  Hunt,  professing  to 
be  a  clergyman,  but  wearing  an  appearance  of  extreme  squalor,  was 
brought  before  Mr.  Beaksby  at  this  office,  charged  by  Z  25  with  being 
drunk  and  very  disorderly  on  Tuesday  se'nnight,  and  endeavoring  by 
force  and  threats  to  effect  his  re-entrance  into  a  house  in  Thornhaugh 
street,  from  which  he  had  been  previously  ejected  in  a  most  unclerieal 
and  inebriated  state. 

"  On  being  taker,  to  the  station-house  the  reverend  gentleman  lodged 
a  complaint  on  his  own  side,  and  averred  that  he  had  been  stupefied 
and  bocusscd  in  the  house  in  Thornhaugh  street  by  means  of  some  drug, 
and  that  while  in  this  state  he  had  been  robbed  of  a  bill  for  £?>S3, 
drawn  by  a  person  in  New  York,  and  accepted  by  Mr.  P.  Firmin,  Bar- 
rister, of  Parchment  Buildings,  Temple. 

"  Mrs.  Brandon,  the  landlady  of  the  house,  No. —  Thornhaugh  street, 
has  been  in  the  habit  of  letting  lodgings  for  many  years  past,  and  sev- 
eral of  her  friends,  including  Mr.  Firmin,  Mr.  Ridley,  the  RI.  Acad., 
and  other  gentlemen  were  in  attendance  to  speak  to  her  character, 
which  is  most  respectable.  After  Z  25  had  given  evidence  the  servant 
deposed  that  Hunt  had  been  more  than  once  disorderly7  and  drunk 
before  that,  house,  and  had  been  forcibly  ejected  from  it.     On  the  night 


450  THK    AP VENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

when  the  alleged  robbery  was  said  to  have  taken  place  ho  had  visited 
the  house  in  Thornhaugh  street,  had  left  it  in  an  inebriated  state,  and 
re.urued  some  hours  afterward  vowing  that  he  had  been  robbed  of  the 
document  in  question. 

"Mr.  P.  Firmin  said:  'I  am  a  barrister,  and  have  chambers  at 
Parchment  Buildings,  Temple,  and  know  the  person  calling  himself 
Hunt.  I  have  not  accepted  any  bill  of  exchange,  nor  is  my  signature 
affixed  to  any  such  document.' 

"  At4his  stage  the  worthy  magistrate  interposed,  and  said  that  this 
only  went  to  prove  that  the  bili  was  not  completed  by  Mr.  F.'s  accept- 
ance, and  would  by  no  means  conclude  the  case  set  up  before  him. 
Dealing  with  it,  however,  on  the  merits,  and  looking  at  the  way  in 
which  the  charge  had  been  preferred,  and  the  entire  absence  of  suffi- 
cient testimony  to  warrant  him  in  deciding  that  even  a  piece  of  paper 
had  been  abstracted  in  that  house,  or  by  the  person  accused,  and  believ- 
ing that  if  he  were  to  commit  a  conviction  would  be  impossible,  he  dis-* 
missed  the  charge. 

"  The  lady  left  the  court  with  her  friends,  and  the  accuser,  when 
called  upon  to  pay  a  fine  for  drunkenness,  broke  out  in,very  unclerical 
language,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  was  forcibly  removed." 

Philip  Firmin's  statement  that  he  had  given  no  bill  of  exchange 
was  made  not  without  hesitation  on  his  part,  and  indeed  at  his 
friends'  strong  entreaty.  It-was  addressed  not  so  much  to  the 
sitting  magistrate  as  to  that  elderly  individual  at  New  York,  who 
was  warned  no  more  to  forge  his  son's  name.  I  fear  a  coolness 
ensued  between  Philip  and  his  parent  in  consequence  of  the 
younger  man's  behavior.  The  doctor  had  thought  better  of  his 
boy  than  to  suppose  that,  at  a  moment  of  necessity,  Philip  would 
desert  him.  He  forgave  Philip,  nevertheless.  Perhaps  since  his 
marriage  other  influences  were  at  work  upon  him,  etc.  The  par- 
ent made  further  remarks  in  this  strain.  A  man  who  takes  your 
money  is  naturally  offended  if  you  remonstrate ;  you  wound  his  . 
sense  of  delicacy  by  protesting  against  his  putting  his  hand  in 
your  pocket.  The  elegant  doctor  in  New  York  continued  to 
speak  of  his  unhappy  son  with  a  mournful  shake  of  the  head; 
he  said,  perhaps  believed,  that  Philip's  imprudence  was  in  part 
the  cause  of  his  own  exile.  "  This  is  not  the  kind  of  entertain- 
ment to  which  I  would  have  invited  you  at  my  own  house  in 
England,"  he  would  say.  "  I  thought  to  have  ended  my  days 
there,  and  to  have  left  my  son  in  comfort,  nay  splendor.  I  am 
an  exile  in  poverty :  and  he — but  I  will  use  no  hard  words." 
And  to  his  female  patients  he  would  say  :  "  No,  my  dear  madam  ! 
Not  a  syllable  of  reproach  shall  escape  these  lips  regarding  that 
misguided  boy  !  But  you  can  feel  for  me  ;  I  know  you  can  feel 
for  me."  In  the  old  days  a  high-spirited  highwayman,  who  took 
a  coach-passenger's  purse,  thought  himself  injured,  and  the 
traveller  a  shabby  fellow,  if  he  secreted  a  guinea  or  two  under 
the  cushions.  In  the  doctor's  now  rare  letters  he  breathed  a 
manly  sigh  here  and  there,  to  think  that  he  had  lost  the  confi- 
dence of  his  boy.     I  do  believe  that  certain  ladies  of  our  acquaint- 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  451 

ance  were  inclined  to  think  that  the  elder  Firmin  had  been  not 
altogether  well  used,  however  much  they  loved  and  admired  the 
Little  Sister  for  her  lawless  act  in  her  boy's  defence.  But  this 
main  point  we  had  won.  The  doctor  at  New  York  took  the 
warning,  and  wrote  his  son's  signature  upon  no  more  bills  of  ex- 
change. The  good  Goodenough's  loan  was  carried  back  to  him 
in  the  very  coin  which  he  had  supplied.  lie  said  that  His  little 
nurse.  Brandon  was  splehtfide  menaax,  and  that  her  robbery  was 
a  sublime  and  courageous  act  of  war. 

In  so  far,  since  his  marriage,  Mr.  Philip  had  been  pretty  fort- 
unate. At  need,  friends  had  come  to  him.  In  moments  of  peril 
he  had  had  succor  and  relief.  Though  he  had  married  without 
money,  fate  had  sent  him  a  sufficiency.  His  flask  had  never  been 
empty,  and  there  was  always  meal  in  his  bin.  But  now  hard 
trials  were  in  store  him:  hard  trials,  which  we  have  said  were 
endurable,  and  which  he  has  long  since  lived  through.  Any  man 
who  has  played  the  game  of  life  or  whist,  knows  how  for  one 
while,  he  will  have  a  series  of  good  cards  dealt  him,  and  again 
will  get  no  trumps  at  all.  After  he  got  into  his  house  in  Milman 
Street  and  quitted  the  Little  Sister's  kind  roof,  our  friend's  good 
fortune  seemed  to  desert  him.  "Perhaps  it  was  a  punishment 
for  my  pride,  because  I  was  haughty  with  her  and — and  jealous  of 
that  dear  good  little  creature,"  poor  Charlotte  afterward  owned 
in  conversation  with  other  friends  :  "  but  our  fortune  seemed  to 
change  .when  we  were  away  from  her,  and  that  I  must  own." 

Perhaps,  when  she  was  yet  under  Mrs.  Brandon  s  roof,  'the 
Little  Sister's  provident  care  had  done  a  great  deal  more  for 
Charlotte  than  Charlotte  knew.  Mrs.  Philip  had  the  most  sim- 
ple tastes  in  the  world,  and  upon  herself  never  spent  an  unnec- 
essary shilling.  Indeed,  it  was  a  wonder,  considering  her  small 
expenses,  how  neat  and  nice  Mrs.  Philip  ever  looked.  But  she 
never  could  deny  herself  when  the  children  were  in  question  ; 
and  had  them  arrayed  in  all  sorts  of  fine  clothes;  and  stitched, 
and  hemmed  all  day  and  night  to  decorate  their  little  persons; 
and  in  reply  to  the  remonstrances  of  the  matrons  her  friends, 
showed  how  it  was  impossible  children  could  be  dressed  for  less 
cost.  If  anything  ailed  them,  quick,  the  doctor  must  be  sent 
for.  Not  worthy  Goodenough,  who  came  without  a  fee,  and  pooh- 
poohed  her  alarms  and  anxieties;  but  dear  Mr.  Bland,  who  had 
a  feeling  heart,  and  was  himself  a  father  of  children,  and  who 
supported  those  children  by  the  produee  of  the  pills,  draughts, 
powders,  visits,  which  he  bestowed  on  all  families  into  whose 
doors  he  entered.  Bland's  sympathy  was  very  consolatory;  but 
it  was  found  to  be  very  costly  at  the  end  of  the  year.  u  And, 
what  then  V"  says  Charlotte,  with  kindling  cheeks.  'k  Do  you  sup- 
pose we  should  grudge  that  money  which  was  to  give  health  to 
our  dearest,  dearest  babies  ?  No.  You  can't  have  such  a  bad 
opinion  of  me  as  that  I"     And  accordingly  Mr.  Bland  received 


452  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

a  nice  little  annuity  from  our  friends.  Philip  had  a  joke  about 
his  wife's  housekeeping  which  perhaps  may  apply  to  other  j^oung 
women  v/ho  are  kept  by  overwatchful  mothers  too  much  in  statu 
pupillari.  When  they  were  married,  or  about  to  be  married,  Philip 
asked  Charlotte  what  she  would  order  for  dinner  ?  She  promptly 
said  she  would  order  leg  of  mutton.  "  And  after  leg  of  mutton?" 
"Leg  of  beef,  to  be  sure!"  says  Mrs.  Charlotte,  looking  very 
pleased  and  knowing.  And  the  fact  is,  as  this  little  housekeeper 
was  obliged  demurely  to  admit,  their  household  bills  increased 
prodigiously  after  they  left  Thorn haugh  street.  "  And  I  can't 
understand,  my  dear,  how  the  grocer's  book  should  mount  up  so; 
and  the  butterman's,  and  the  beer,"  etc.,  etc.  We  have  often 
seen  the  pretty  little  head  bent  over  the  dingy  volumes,  puzzling, 
puzzling :  and  the  eldest  child  would  hold  up  a  warning  finger 
to  ours,  and  tell  them  to  be  very  quiet,  as  mamma  was  at  her 
"  atounts." 

And  now,  I  grieve  to  say,  money  became  scarce  for  the  pay- 
ment of  these  accounts;  and  though  Philip  fancied  he  hid  his 
anxieties  from  his  wife,  be  sure  she  loved  him  too  much  to  be  de- 
ceived by  one  of  the  clumsiest  hypocrites  in  the  world.  Onlyr 
being  a  much  cleverer  hypocrite  than  her  husband,  she  pretended 
to  be  deceived,  and  acted  her  part  so  well  that  poor  Philip  was 
mortified  with  her  gayety,  and  chose  to  fancy  his  wife  was  indif- 
ferent to  their  misfortunes.  She  ought  not  to  be  so  smiling  and 
happy,  he  thought ;  and,  as  usual,  bemoaned  his  lot  to  his  friends. 
"  I  come  home  racked  wifh  care,  and  thinking  of  those  inevita- 
ble bills ;  I  shudder,  sir,  at  every  note  that  lies  on  the  hall-table, 
and  would  tremble  as  I  dashed  them  open  as  they  do  on  the  stage. 
But  I  laugh  and  put  on  a  jaunty  air,  and  humbug  Char.  And 
I  hear  her  singing  about  the  house  and  laughing  and  cooing  with 
the  children,  by  Jove.  She  's  not  aware  of  anything.  She  does 
not  know  how  dreadfully  the  res  di.ini  is  squeezing  me.  But  be- 
fore marriage  she  did,. I  tell  you.  Then,  if  anything  annoyed  me, 
she  divined  it.  If  I  felt  ever  so  little  unwell,  you  should  have 
seen  the  alarm  in  her  face  !  It  was  4  Philip,  dear,  how  pale  you 
are  !'  or,  '  Philip,  how  flushed  you  are  !'  or,  '  I  am  sure  you  have 
had  a  letter  from  your  father.  Why  do  you  conceal  anything 
from  me,  sir?  You  never  should — never  !'  And  now,  when  the 
fox  is  gnawing  at  my  side  under  my  cloak,  I  laugh  and  grin  so 
naturally  that  she  believes  I  am  all  right,  and  she  comes  to  meet 
me  flouncing  the  children  about  in  my  face,  and  wearing  an  air 
of  consummate  happiness  !  I  would  not  deceive  her  for  the 
world,  you  know.  But  it  's  mortifying.  Don't  tell  me !  It  is 
mortifying  to  be  tossing  awake  all  night,  and  racked  with  care 
all  day,  and  have  the  wife  of  your  bosom  chattering  and  singing 
and  laughing,  as  if  there  were  no  cares,  or  doubts,  or  duns  in  the 
world.  If  1  bad  the  gout,  and  she  were  to  laugh  and  sing,  I 
should  not  call  that  sympathy.     If  I  were  arrested  for  debt,  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    TUK    WOULD.  453 

she  were  to  come  grinning  and  laughing  to  the  sponging  -house, 
I  should  not  call  that  consolation.  Why  docs  n't  she  feel  ?  She 
ought  to  fefel.  There  's  Betsy,  our  parlor- maid.  There  s  the  old 
fellow  who  comes  to  clean  the  boots  and  knives.  They  know  how 
hard  up  I  am.  And  my  wife  sings  and  dances  while  I  am  on  the 
verge  of  ruin,  by  Jove ;  and  giggles  and  laughs  as  if  life  was  a 
pantomime  !" 

Then  the  man  and  woman  into  whose  ears  poor  Philip  roared 
out  his  confessions  and  griefs  hung  down  their  blushing  heads  in 
humble  silence.  -  They  are  tolerably  prosperous  in  life,  and,  I 
fear,  are  pretty  well  satisfied  with  themselves  and  each  other. 
A  woman  who  searcely  ever  does  any  wrong,  and  rules  and  gov- 
erns her  own  house  and  family,  as  my — ,  as  the  wife  of  the 
reader's  humble  servant  most  notoriously  does,  often  becomes — 
must  it  be  said? — too  certain  of  her  own  virtue,  and  is  too  sure  of 
the  correctness  of  her  own  opinion.  We  virtuous  people  give 
advice  a  good  deal,  and  set  a  considerable  value  upon  that 
advice.  We  meet  a  certain  man  who  has  fallen  among  thieves, 
let  us  say.  We  succor  him  readily  enough.  We  take  him 
kindly  to  the  inn  and  pay  his  score  there;  but  we  say  to  the 
landlord,  "  You  must  give  this  poor  man'his  bed ;  his  medicine  at 
such  a  time,  and  his  broth  at  such  another.  But,  mind  you,  he 
must  havp.  that  physic,  and  no  other;  that  broth  when  Ave  order 
it.  We  take  his  case  in  hand,  ycni  understand.  Don't  listen  to 
him  or  anybody  else.  We  know  all  about  everything.  Good- 
by.  Take  care  of  him.  Mind  the  medicine  and  the  broth  !"  and 
Mr.  Benefactor  or  Lady  Bountiful  goes  away  perfectly  self- 
satisfied. 

Do  you  take  this  allegory  ?  "When  Philip  complained  to  us  of 
his  wife's  friskiness  and  gayety  ;  when  he  bitterly  contrasted  her 
levity  and  carelessness  with  his  own  despondency  and  doubt, 
Charlotte's  two  principal  friends  were  smitten  by  shame.  u  Oh, 
Philip  !  dear  Philip  !"  his  female  adviser  said  (having  looked,  at 
her  husband  once  or  twice  as  Firmin  spoke,  and  in  vain  endeav- 
ored to  keep  her  guilty  eyes  down  on  her  work),  u  Charlotte  has 
done  this  because  she  is  humble,  and  because  she  takes  the  advice 
of  friends  who  are  not.  She  knows  everything,  and  more  than 
everything ;  for  her  dear,  tender  heart  is  filled  with  apprehen- 
sion. But  we  told  her  to  show  no  sign  of  care,  lest  her  husband 
should  be  disturbed.  And  she  trusted  in  us ;  and  she  puts  her 
trust  elsewhere,  Philip ;  and  she  has  hidden  her  own  anxieties, 
lfcst  yours  should  be  increased  ;  and  has  met  you  gaily  when  her 
heart  was  full  of  dread.  We  think  she  has  done  wrong  now ; 
but  she  did  so  because  she  was  so  simple,  and  trusted  in  us  who 
advised  her  wrongly.  Now  we  see  that  there  ought  to  have  been 
perfect  confidence  always  between  you,  and  that  it  is  her  sim- 
plicity and  faith  in  us  which  have  misled  her." 

Philip  hung  down  his  head  for  a  moment  and  hid  his  eyes ; 


454  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  we  knew,  during  that,  minute  when  his  face  was  concealed 
from  us,  how  his  grateful  heart  was  employed. 

"And  you  know,  dear  Philip — "  says  Laura,  looking  at  her 
husband,  and  nodding  to  that  person,  who  certainly  understood 
the  hint. 

"And  I  say,  Firmin/'  breaks  in  the  lady's  husband,  "you 
understand,  if  you  are  at  all — that  is,  if  you — that  is,  if  we 
can — " 

"  Hold  your  tongire  !"  shouts  Firmin,  with  a  face  beaming  over 
with  happiness.  "  I  know  what  you  mean.  You  beggar,  you 
are  going  to  oifer  me  money  !  I  see  it  in  your  face;  bless  you 
both  !  But  we  '11  try  and  do  without,  please  heaven.  And — and 
it 's  worth  feeling  a  pinch  of  poverty  to  find  such  friends  as  I 
have  had,  and  to  share  it  with  such  a — such  a — dash— dear  little 
thing  as  I  have  at  home.  And  I  won't  try  and  humbug  Char 
any  more.  I  'm  bad  at  that  sort  of  business.  And  good-night, 
and  I  '11  neve?  forget  your  kindness — never!"  And  hf  is  off  a 
moment  afterward,  and  jumping  down  the  steps  of  our  door,  and 
so  into  the  park.  And  though  there  were  not  five  pounds  in  the 
poor  little  house  in  Milman  street,  there  were  not  two  happier 
people  in  London  that  night  than  Charlotte  and  Philip  Firmin. 
If  he  had  his  troubles,  ourTriend  had  his  immense  consolations. 
Fortunate  he,  however  poor,  who  has  friends  to  help,  and  love 
to  console  him  in  bis  trials. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

IN  WHICH  THE  LUCK   GOES  VERY  MUCH  AGAINST  US. 

Every  man  and  woman  among  us  has  made  his  voyage  to 
Liliput,  and  his  tour  in  the  kingdom  of  JBrobdingnag.  When  I 
go  to  my  native  country  town  the  local  paper  announces  our 
arrival;  the  laborers  touch  their  hats  as  the  pony-chaise  passes; 
the  girls  and  old  women  drop  courtesies;  Mr.  Hicks,  the  grocer 
and  hatter,  comes  to  his  door,  and  makes  a  bow,  and  smirks  and 
smiles.  When  our  neighbor,  Sir  John,  arrives  at  the  Hall  he  is  a 
still  greater  personage;  the  bell-ringers  greet,  the  Hall  family 
with  a  peal ;  the  rector  walks  over  on  an  early  day  and  pays  his 
visit;  and  the  farmers  at  market  press  round  for  a  nod  of  recog- 
nition. Sir  John  at  home  is  in  Liliput:  in  Belgrave  square  he 
is  in  Brobdingnag,  where  almost  everybody  we  meet  is  ever^o 
much  taller  than  ourselves.  "  Whieh  do  you  like  best,  to  be  a 
giant  among  the  pigmies,  or  a  pigmy  among  the  giants  ?"  I 
know  what  sort  of  company  I  prefer  myself:  but  that  is- not  the 
point.  What  I  would  hint  is,  tjiat  we  possibly  give  ourselves 
patronizing  airs  before  small  people,  as  folks  higher  placed  than 
ourselves  give    themselves  airs   before  us.     Patronizing   airs? 


ON    HIS    WAT    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  455 

Old  Miss  Mumbles,  the  half-pay  lieutenant's  daughter,  who  lives 
over  the.  plumber's,  with  her  maid,  gives  herself  in  her  (degree 
more  airs  than  any  duchess  in  Belgravia,  and  would  leave  the 
room  if  a  tradesman's  wife  sat  'down  in  it. 

Now  it  has  been  said  that  few  men  in  this  City  of  London  are 
so  simple  in  their  manners  as  Philip  Firmin,aml  that  he  treated 
the.  patron  whose  bread  he  ate,  and  the  wealth v  relative  who 
eondescended  to  visit  him,  with  a  like  freedom.  He  is  blunt  but 
not  familiar,  and  is  hot  a  whit  more  polite,  to  my  lord  than  to 
Jack  or  Tom  at  the  coffee-house.  He  resents  familiarity  from 
vulgar  persons,  and  those  who  venture,  on  it  retire  maimed  and 
mortified  after  coming  into  collision  with  him.  As  for  the  people, 
he  loves,  he  grovels  before  them,  worships  their  boot- tips  and 
their  gown-hems.  But  he  submits  to  them,  not  for  their  wealth 
or  rank,  but  for  love's  sake.  He  submitted  very  magnanimously 
at  first  to  the  kindnesses  and  caresses  of  Ladv  Ring  wood  and  her 
daughters,  being  softened  and  won  by  the  regard  which  they 
showed  for  his  wife  and  children. 

Although  Sir  John  was  for  the  lights  of  man  everywhere  all 
over  the  world,  a>.d  had  pictures  of  Franklin,  Lafayette,  and 
Washington  in  his  library,  he  likewise  had  portraits  of  his  own 
ancestors  in  that  apartment,  and  entertained  a  very  high  opinion 
of  the  present  representative  of  the  Ringwood  family.  The 
character  of  tile  late  chief  of  the  house  was  notorious.  Lord 
Ringwood's  life  had  been  irregular  and  his  morals  loose.  His 
talents  were  considerable,  no  doubt,  but  they  had  not  been 
devoted  to  serious  study  or  directed  to  useful  ends.  A  wild  man 
in  early  life,  he.  had  only  changed  his  practices  in  later  life  in 
consequence  of  ill  health,  and  became  a  hermit  as  a  certain 
person  became  a  monk.  He  was  a  frivolous  person  to  the  end, 
and  was  not  to  be  considered  as  a  public  man  and  statesman  ; 
and  this  light-minded  man  of  pleasure  had  been  advanced  to  the 
third  rank  of  the  peerage,  while  bis  successor,  his  superior  in 
intellect  and  morality,  remained  a  baronet  still.  How  blind  the 
ministry  was  which  refused  to  recognize  so  much  talent  and 
worth!  Had  there  been  public  virtue  or  common  sense  in  the 
governors  of  the  nation,  merits  like  Sir  John's  m-ver  could  have 
been  overlooked.  But  ministers  were  notoriously  a  family  clique, 
and  only  helped  each  other.  Promotion  and  patronage  were 
disgracefully  monopolized  by  the  members  of  a  very  few  families 
who  were  not  better  men  of  business,  men  of  better  character, 
men  of  more  ancient  lineage  (though  birth,  of  course,  was  a  mere, 
accident),  than  Sir  John  himself.  In  a  word,  until  they  gave 
him  a  peerage,  he  saw  very  little  hope  for  the  cabinet  or  the 
country. 

In  a  xery  early  page  of  this  history  mention  was  made  of  a 
certain  Philip  Ringwood,  to  whose  protection  Philip  Firmiu's 
mother  confided  her  boy  when  he  was  first  sent  to  school.     Philip 


456  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Ringwood  was  Firmin's  senior  by  seven  years;  lie  came  to  Old 
Parr  street  twice  or  thrive  during  bis  stay  at  school,  condescended 
to  take  the  ''tips,"  of  which  the  poor  doctor  was  liberal  enough, 
but  never  deigned  to  take  any  notice  of  young  Firmin,  who 
looked  up  to  his  kinsman  with  awe  and  trembling.  From  school 
Philip  Ringwood  speedily  departed  to  college,  and  then  entered 
upon  public  life.  He  was  the  eldest  son  of  Sir  John  Ringwood, 
with  whom  our  friend  has  oflate  made  acquaintance. 

Mr.  Ringwood  was  a  much  greater  personage  than  the  baronet 
his  father.  Even  when  the  latter  succeeded  to  Lord  Riugwood's 
estates  and  came  to  London,  he  could  scarcely  be  said  to*equal 
his  son  in  social  rank ;  and  the  younger  patronized  his  parent. 
What  is  the  secret  of  great  social  success  ?  It  is  not  to  be  gained 
by  beauty,  or  wealth,  or  birth,  or  wit,  or  valor,  or  eminence  of 
any  kind.  It  is  a  gift  of  Fortune,  bestowed,  like  that  goddess' 
favors,  capriciously.  Look,  de'ar  madam,  at  the  most  fashionable 
ladies  at  present  reigning  in  London.  Are  they  better  bred,  or 
more  amiable,  or  richer,  or  more  beautiful,  than  yourself?  See, 
good  sir,  the  men  who  lead  the  fashion,  and  stand  in  the  bow- 
window  at  Black's ;  are  they  wiser,  or  wittier,  or  more  agreeable 
people  than  you?  Arid  yet  you  know  what  your  fate  would  be 
if  you  were  put  up  at  that  club.  Sir  John  Ringwood  never  dared 
to  be  proposed  there,  even  after  his  great  accession  of  fortune  on 
the  earl's  death  His  son  did  not  encourage  him.  People  even 
said  that  Ringwood  would  blackball  his  father  if  he  dared  to  offer 
himself  as  a  candidate. 

I  never,  I  say,  could  understand  the  reason  of  Philip  Ring- 
wood's  success  in  life,  though  you  must  acknowledge  that  he  is  one 
of  our  most  eminent  dandies.  He  is  affable  to  dukes.  He  patron- 
izes marquises.-  He  is  not  witty.  He  is  not  clever.  He  does 
not  give  good  dinners.  How  many  baronets  are  there  in  the 
British  empire  ?  Look  to  your  book  and  see.  I  tell  you  there 
are  many  of  these*whom  Philip  Ringwood  would  scarcely  admit 
to  wait  at  one  of  his  bad  dinners.  By  calmly  asserting  himself  in 
life,  this  man  has  achieved  his  social  eminence.  We  may  hate 
him ;  but  we  acknowledge  his  superiority.  For  instance,  1  should 
as  soon  think  or  asking  him  to  dine  with  me  as  I  should  of  slap- 
ping the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  on  the  back. 

Mr.  Ringwood  has  a  meagre  little  house  in  May  Fair,  and  be- 
longs to  a  public  office,  where  he  patronizes  his  chef.  His  own 
family  bow  down  before  him ;  his  mother  is  humble  in  his  com- 
pany ;  his  sisters  are  respectful ;  his  father  does  not  brag  of  his 
own  liberal  principles,  and  never  alludes  to  the  rights  of  man  in 
the  son's  presence.  He  is  called  "  Mr.  Ringwood  "  in  the  family. 
The  person  who  is  least  in  awe  of  him  is  his  younger,  brother, 
who  has  been  known  to  make  faces  behind  the  elder's  back.  But 
he  is  a  dreadfully  headstrong  and  ignorant  child,  and  respects 
nothing.     Lady  Ringwood,  by  the  way,  is  Mr.  Riugwood's  step- 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THK    WOULD.  457 

mother.     His  own  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  noble  house,  and 
died  in  giving  birth  to  this  paragon. 

Philip  Firmin,  who  had  not  set  eyes  upon  his  kinsman  since 
they  were  at  school  together,  remembered  some  stories  which 
were  current  about  Ringwood,  and  by  no  means  to  that  eminent 
dandy's  credit — stories  of  intrigue,  of  p! ly,  of  various  libertine* 
exploits  on  Mr.  Ringwood's  part.  One  day  Philip  and  Charlotte' 
dined  with  Sir  John,  who  was  talking,  and  chirping,  and  laying 
down  the  law,  and  bragging  away  according  to  his  wont,  when 
his  son  entered  and  as-ked  for  dinner.  lie  had  accepted  an  invi- 
tation to  dine  at  Garlertoii  House.  The  duke  hail  one  of  his 
attacks  of  gout  just  before  dinner.  The  dinner  was  oft*.  If  Lady 
Ringwood  would  give  him  a  slice  of  mutton  he  would  be  very 
much  obliged  to  her.  A  plaee  was  soon  found  for  him.  "  And, 
Philip,  this  is  your  namesake  and  our  cousin,  Mr.  Philip  Firmin," 
said  the  baronet,  presenting  his  son  to  li Is  kinsman. 

11  Your  father  used  to  give  me  sovereigns  when  I  was  at  school. 
I  have  a  faint  recollection  of  you,  too.  Little  white-headed  boy, 
were  n't  you  V    How  is  the  doctor  and  Mrs.  Firmin  ?    All  right  ?" 

M  Why,  don't  you  know  his  father  ran  away?"  calls  out  the 
youngest  member  of  the  family.  "  Don't  kick  me,  Emily.  He 
did  run  away  !" 

Then  Mr.  Ringwood  remembered,  and  a  faint  blush  tinged  his 
face.  "  Lapse  of  time.  I  know.  Should  n't  have  asked  after 
such  a  lapse  of  time."  And  he  mentioned  a  ease  in  which  a 
duke,  who  was  very  forgetful,  had  asked  a  marquis  about  his  wife, 
who  had  run  away  with  an  earl,  and  made  inquiries  about  the 
duke's  son,  who,  as  everybodv  knew,  was  not  on  terms  with  his 
father; 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Firmin — Mrs.  Philip  Firmin  !"  cried  Lady  Ring- 
wood,  rather  nervously;  and  I  suppose  Mrs.  Philip  blushed,  and 
the  blush  became  her;  for  Mr.  Ringwood  afterward  condescended 
to  say  to  one  of  his  sisters  that  their  new-found  relative  seemed 
one  of  your  rough-and-ready  sort  of  gentlemen,  but  his  wife  was 
really  very  well  bred,  and  quite  a  pretty  young  woman,  and 
presentable  anywhere — really  anywhere.  Charlotte  was  asked 
to  sing  one  or  two  of  her  little  songs  after  dinner.  Mr.  Ring- 
wood  was  delighted.  Her  voice  was  perfectly  true.  What  she 
sang  she  sang  admirably.  And  he  was  good  enough  to  hum  over 
one  of  her  songs  (during  which  performance  he  showed  that  /its 
voice  was  not  exempt  from  little  frailties),  and  to  say  he  had 
heard  Lady  Philomela  Shakerley  sing  that  very  song  at  Glen- 
mavis  last  autumn;  and  it  was  such  a  favorite  that  the  duchess 
asked  for  it  every  night — actually  every  night.  When  our  friends 
were  going  home  Mr.  Ringwood  gave  Philip  almost,  the  whole  of 
one  finger  to  shake  ;  and  while  Philip  was  inwardly  raging  at  his 
impertinence,  believed  that  he  had  entirely  fascinated  his  humble 
relatives,  and  that  he  had  been  most  good-natured  and  friendly. 
33 


458  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

I. can  not  tell  why  this  man's  patronage  chafed  and  goaded  our 
worthy  friend  so  as  to  drive  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  all  polite- 
ness and  reason.  The  artless  remarks  of  the  little  boy,  and  the 
occasional  simple  speeches  of  the  young  ladies,  had  only  tickled 
Philip's  humor  and  served  to  amuse  him  when  he  met  his  relatives. 
I  suspect  it  was  a  certain  free-and-easy  m  inner  which  Mr.  Ring- 
wood  chose  to  adopt  toward  Mrs.  Philip  which  annoyed  her  hus- 
band. He  had  said  nothing  at  which  offence  could  be  taken  : 
perhaps  he  was  quite  unconscious  of  offending;  nay,  thought 
himself  eminently  pleasing  :  perhaps  he  was  not  more  impertinent 
toward  her  than  toward  other  women :  but  in  talking  about  him 
Mr.  Firmin's  eyes  flashed  very  fiercely,  and  he  spoke  of  his  new 
acquaintance  and  relative  with  his  usual  extreme  candor,  as  an 
upstart,  and  an  arrogant  conceited  puppy  whose  ears  he  would 
like  to  pull. 

How  do  good  women  learn  to  discover  men  who  are  not  good  ? 
Is  it  by  instinct?  How  do  they  learn  those  stories  about  men  ? 
I  protest  I  never  told  my  wife  anything  good  or  bad  regarding 
this  Mr.  Ringwood,  though,  of  course,  as  a  man  about  town,  I 
have  heard — who  has  not? — little  anecdotes  regarding  his  career. 
His  conduct  in  that  affair  with  Miss  Willowby  was  heartless  and 
cruel ;  his  behavior  to  that  unhappy  Blanche  Painter  nobody  can 
defend.  My  wife  conveys  her  opinion  regarding  Philip  Ringwod, 
his  life,  principles,  and  morality,  by  looks  and  silences  which  are 
more  awful  and  killing  than  the  bitterest  words  of  sarcasm  or 
reproof.  Philip  Firmin,  who  knows  her  ways,  watches  her  feat- 
ures, and,  as  I  have  said,  humbles  himself  at  her  feet,  marked 
the  lady's  awful  looks  when  he  came  to  describe  to  us  his  meet- 
ing with  his  cousin,  and  the  magnificent  patronizing  airs  which 
Mr.  Ringwood  assumed. 

"What?"  he  said,  "you  don't  like  him  any  more  than  I  do? 
I  thought  you  would  not ;  and  I  am  so  glad." 

Philip's  friend  said  she  did  not  know  Mr.  Ringwood,  and  had 
never  spoken  a  word  to  him  in  her  life. 

"  Yes  ;  but  you  know  of  him,"  cries  the  impetuous  Firmin. 
"What  do  you  know  of  him,  with  his  monstrous  puppyism  and 
arrogance  ?"  Oh,  Mrs.  Laura  knew  very  little  of  him."  She  did 
not  believe — she  had  much  rather  not  believe — what  the  world 
said  about  Mr.  Ringwood. 

"  Suppose  we  were  to  ask  the  Woolcombs  their  opinion  of 
your  character,  Philip  ?"  cries  that  gentleman's  biographer,  with 
a  laugh. 

"My  dear,"  says  Laura,  with  a  yet  severer  look,  the  severity 
of  which  glance  I  must  explain.  The  differences  of  Woolcomb 
and  his  wife  were  notorious.  Their  unhappiness  was  known  to 
all  the  world.  Society  was  beginning  to  look  with  a^ery,  very 
cold  face  upon  Mrs.  Woolcomb.  After  quarrels,  jealousies,  bat- 
tles, reconciliations,  scenes  of  renewed  violence    and    furious 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  459 

language,  had  come  indifference  and  the  most  reckless  gayety  on 
the  woman's  part.  Her  home  was  splendid,  but  mean  and  miser- 
able :  all  sorts  of  stories  were  rife  regarding  her  husband's  brutal 
treatment  of  poor  Agnes,  and  her  own  imprudent  behavior. 
Mrs.  Laura  was  indignant  when  this  unhappy  woman's  name 
was  ever  mentioned,  except  when  she  thought  how  our  warm, 
true-hearted  Philip  had  escaped  from  the  heartless  creature. 
"  What  a  blessing  it  was  that  you  were  ruined,  Philip,  and  that 
she  deserted  you  !"  Laura  would  say.  "  What  fortune  would 
repay  you  for  marrying  such  a  woman  V" 

"  Indeed  it  was  worth  all  I  had  to  lose  her,"  says  Philip,  "  and 
so  the  doctor  and  I  are  quits.  If  he  had  not  spent  my  fortune, 
Agnes  would  have  married  me.  If  she  had  married  me,  I  might 
have  turned  Othello,  and  have  been  hung  for  smothering  her. , 
Why,  if  I  had  not  been  poor,  I  should  never  have  been  married 
to  little  Char — and  fancy  not  being  married  to  Char!"  The 
worthy  fellow  here  lapses  into  silence,  and  indulges  in  an  inward 
rapture  at  the  idea  of  -his  own  excessive  happiness.  Then  he  is 
scared  again  at  the  thought  which  his  own  imagination  has 
raised. 

UI  say!  Fancy  being  without  the  kids  and  Char!"  he  cries, 
with  a  blank  look. 

"  That  horrible  father — that  dreadful  mother — pardon  me, 
Philip  ;  but  when  I  think  of  the  worldliness  of  those  unhappy 
people,  and  how  that  poor  unhappy  woman  has  been  bred  in  it, 
and  ruined  by  it — I  am  so,  so,  so — enraged  that  I  can't  keep  my 
temper !"  cries  the  lady.  "  Is  the  woman  answerable,  or  the 
parents,  who  hardened  her  heart,  and  sold  her — sold  her  to  that 
—  0  !"  Our  illustrious  friend  Woolcomb  was  signified  by  "  that,  ' 
O,"  and  the  lady  once  more  paused,  choked  with  wrath  as  she 
thought  about  that  O,  and  that  O's  wife. 

"  I  wonder  he  has  not  Othcllo'd  her,"  remarks  Philip,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  "  I  should,  if  she  had  been  mine,  and  gone 
on  cs  they  say. she  is  going  on." 

"  It  is  dreadful,  dreadful  to  contemplate  !"  continues  the  lady. 
"  To  think  she  was  sold  by  her  own  parents,  poor  thing,  poor 
thing  !     The  guilt  is  with  them  who  led  her  wrong." 

"  Nay,"  says  one  of  the  three  .interlocutors.  "  Why  stop  at 
poor  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Twysden  V  Why  not  let  them  off,  and  accuse 
their  parents  ?  who  lived  worldly  too  in  their  generation.  Or, 
stay  ;  they  descend  from  William  the  Conqueror.  Let  us  absolve 
poor  Weldone  Twysdone,  and  his  heartless  wife,  and  have  the 
Norman  into  court." 

'•Ah,  Arthur  !  Did  not  our  sin  begin  with  the  beginning," 
cries  the  lady,  "and  have  we  not  its  remedy?  Oh,  this  poor 
creature,  this  poor  creature!  May  she  know  where  to  take 
refuge  from  it,  atid  learn  to  repent  in  time." 

The  Georgian  and  Circassian  girls,  they  say,  used   to  submit 


460  THE    ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

to  their  lot  very  complacently,  and  were  quite  eager  to  get 
to   market   at  Constantinople    and   be  sold.      Mrs.   Woolcomb 
wanted  nobody  to  tempt  her  away  from  poor  Philip.  She  hopped 
away  from  the  old  love  as  soon  as  ever  the  new  one  appeared 
with  his  bag  of  money.     She  knew  quite  well  to  whom  she  was 
selling  herself,  and  for  what.     The  tempter  needed -no  skill,  or 
artifice,  or  eloquence*     He  had    none.     But   he  showed  her  a 
purse  and  three  fine  houses — and  she  came.      Innocent  child, 
forsooth  !     She  knew  quite  as  much  about  the  world  as  papa  and 
mamma;  and  the  lawyers  did  not  look  to  her  settlement  more 
warily  and  coolly  than  she  herself  did.     Did  she  not  live  on  it 
afterward  ?     I  do  not  say  she.  lived  reputably,  but  most  comfort- 
ably :  as  Paris,  and  Rome,  and  Naples,  and   Florence  can  tell 
you,  where  she  is  well  known  ;  where  she  receives  a  great  deal 
of  a  certain  kind  of  company  ;  where   she  is  scorned,  and  flat- 
tered,   and   splendid,   and  lonely,   and    miserable.     She    is  not 
miserable  when  she  roes  children  :  she  does  not  care  for  other 
persons'  children,  as  she  never  did  for  her  own,  even  when  they 
were  taken  from  her.     She  is.  of  course,  hint  and  angry,  when 
quite  common,  vulgar  people,  not  in  society,  you  understand,  , 
turn  away  from  her,  and  avoid  her,  and  won't  come  to  her  par- 
ties.    She  gives  excellent  dinners    which  jolly  fo^ys,  rattling 
bachelors,  and  doubtful  ladies  frequent;  but  she  is  alone  and  un- 
happy— unhappy  because  she   does  not  see    parents,  sister,  or 
brother?     Alhms,  mon  ban  Monsieur!     She    never   cared    for 
parents,  sister,  or  brother  ;  or  for  baby  ;  or  for  man  (except  once 
for  Philip  a  little,  little,  bit,  when  her  pulse  would  sometimes  go 
up  two  beats  in  a  minute  at  his  appearance).    But  she  is  unhappy, 
because  she  is  losing  her  figure,  and  from  tight  lacing  her  nose 
has   become  very  red,   and   the    pearl  powder  won't  lie  on  it; 
somehow.     And  though  you  may  have  thought  Woolcomb  an 
odious,  ignorant,  and  underbred  little  wretch,  you  must  own  that 
at  least  he  had  red  blood  in  his  veins.     Did  he  not  spend  a  great 
part  of  his  fortune  for  the  possession  of  this  cold  wife  '(  For  whom 
did  she  ever  make  a  sacrifice  or  feel  a  pang  ?     I  am  sure  a  greater 
misfortune  than  any  which  has  befallen  friend  Philip  might  have 
happened  to  him,  and  so  congratulate  him  on  his  escape. 

Having  vented  his  wrath  up/)n  the  arrogance  and  impertinence 
of  this  solemn  puppy  of  a  Philip  Ringwood,  our  friend  went  away 
somewhat  soothed  ttf  his  club  in  St.  James'  street.  The  Me- 
gatherium club  is  only  a  very  few  doors  from  the  much  more 
aristocratic  establishment  of  Black's.  Mr.  Philip  Ringwood  and 
Mr.  Woolcomb  were  standing  on  the  steps  of  Black's.  Mr.  Ring- 
wood  waved  a  graceful  little  kid-gloved  hand  to  Philip  and  smiled 
on- him.  Mr.  Woolcomb  glared  at  our  friend  out  of  his  opal  eye- 
balls. Philip  had  once  proposed  to  kick  Woolcomb  into  the  sea. 
He  somehow  felt  as  if  he  would  like  to  treat  Ringwood  to  the 
same  bath.-    Meanwhile  Mr.  Ringwood  labored  under  the  notion 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE   WOULD.  461 

that  ho  and  his  new-found  acquaintance  were  on  the  very  best 
possible  tenuis. 

At  one  time  poor  little  Woolcomb  loved  to  be  seen  with  Phi- 
lip Ringwood.  He  thought  he  acquired  distinction  from  the 
companionship  of  that  man  of  fashion,  and  would  ham?  on  Ring- 
Good  as  they  walked  the  Pall  Mall  pavement. 

"  Do  you  know  that  great  hulking,  overbearing  brute  ?"  savs 
"Woolcomb  to  Ins  companion  on  the  steps  of  Black's.  Perhaps 
somebody  overheard  them  from  the  bow-window.  (T  tell  you 
everything  js  overheard  in  London,  and  a  great  deal  more  too.) 

"  Brute,  is  he  ?"  says  Ringwood  ;  "seems  a  rough,  overbearing 
sort  of  chap." 

'•  Blackguard  doctor's  son.  Bankrupt,  Father  ran  awav," 
says  the  dusky  man  with  the  opal  eyeballs. 

"I  have  heard  he  was  a  rogue—the  doctor;  but  T  like  him. 
"Remember  he  gave  me  three  sovereigns  when  I  was  at  school. 
Always  like  a  fellow  who  tips  you  when  you  are  at  school.'' 
And  here  Uingwood  beckoned  his  brougham,  which  was  in 
waiting. 

"  Shall  we  see  you  at  dinner?  "Where  are  you  going?"  asked 
Mr.  WoolcomH.     "  If  yon  are  going  toward—" 

"Toward  Gray's  Ten,  to  sec  my  lawyer;  have  an  appointment, 
there  ;  be  with  you  at  eight !"  And  Mr.  Uingwood  skipped  into 
his  little  brougham  and  was  rrooe. 

Tom  Eaves  told  Philip.  Tom  Eaves  belongs  to  Black's  club, 
to  Bays',  to  the  Megatherium,  I  don't  know  to  how. many  clubs 
in  St.  James'  street.  Tom  Eaves  knows  everybody's  business, 
and  all  the  scandal  of  all  the  clubs  for  the  last  forty  years.  He 
knows  who  has  lost  money,  and  to  whom ;  what  is  the  talk  of  the 
opera-box,  and  what  the  scandal  of  the  coulisses;  who  is  making 
love  to  Whose  daughter.  Whatever  men  and  women  are  doing 
in  May  Fair  is  the  farrago  of  Tom's  libel.  lie  knows  so  many 
stories  that,  of  course,  he  makes  mistakes  in  names  sometimes, 
and  says  that  Jones  is  on  the  verge  of  ruin  when  he  is  thriving 
and  prosperous,  and  it  is  poor  Brown  who  is  in  difficulties'!  or 
informs  us  that  Mrs.  Fanny  is  flirting  with  Captain  Ogle  win  h 
both. are  as  innocent  of  a  flirtation  as  you  and  I  are.  Tom  cer- 
tainly is  mischievous,  and  often  is  wrong ;  but  when  he  speaks  of 
our  neighbors  he  is  amusing. 

11  It  is  as  good  as  a  play  to  see  Ringwood  and  Othello  together," 
says  Tom  to  Philip.  "  How  proud  the  black  man  is  toT>e  seen 
with  him  !  Heard  him  abuse  you  to  Ringwood.  Ringwood  stuck 
up  for  you  and  for  your  poor  governor— spoke  up  like  a  man — 
like  a  man  who  sticks  up  for  a  fellow  who  is  down.  How  the 
black  man  brags  about  having  Ringwood  to  dinner!  Always 
having  him  to  dinner.  You  should  have  seen  Ringwood  shake 
him  off!  Said  he  was  going  to  Gray's  Inn.  Heard  him  say 
Gray's  Inn  lane  to  his  man.     Don't  believe  a  word  of  it.'' 


462  THE   ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

Now  I  dare  say  you  are  much  too  fashionable  to  know  that 
Milman  street  is.  a  little  cul-de-sac  of  a  street  which  leads  into 
Guildford  street,  which  leads  into  Gray's  Inn  lane.  Philip  went 
his  way  homeward,  shaking  off  Tom  Eaves,  who,  for  his  part, 
trolled  off  to  his  other  clubs,  telling  people  how  he  had  just  been 
talking  with  that  bankrupt  doctor's  son,  and  wondering  how 
Philip  should  get  money  enough  to  pay  his  club  subscription. 
Philip  then  went  on  his  way,  striding  homeward  at  his  usual 
manly  pace. 

Whose  black  brougham  was  that? — the  black  brougham  with 
the  chestnut  horse  walking  up  and  down  Guildford  street.  Mr. 
Ringwood's  crest  was  on  the  brougham.  When  Philip  entered 
his  drawing-room,  having  opened  the  door  with  his  own  key, 
there  sat  Mr.  Ring  wood,  talking  to  Mrs.  Charlotte,  who  was 
taking  a  cup  of  tea  at  five  o'clock.  She  and  the  children  liked 
that  cup  of  tea.  Sometimes  it  served  Mrs.  Char  for  dinner  when 
Philip  dined  from  home. 

"  If  I  had  known  you  were  coming  here,  you  might  have 
brought  me  home  and  saved  me  a  long  walk,"  said  Philip,  wiping 
a  burning  forehead. 

"  So  I  might — so  I  might !"  said  the  other.  "I  never  thought 
of  it.  I  had  to  see  my  lawyer  in  Gray's  Inn;  and  it  was  then  I 
thought  of  coming  on  to  see  you,  as  I  was  telling  Mrs.  Firmin  ; 
and  a  very  nice  quiet  place  you  live  in  !" 

This  was  very  well.  But  for  the  first  and  only  time  of  his  life 
Philip  was  jealous. 

u  Don't  drub  so  with  your  feet!  Don't  like  to  ride  when  you 
jog  so  on  the  floor,"  said  Philip's  eldest  darling,  who  had  clam- 
bered on  papa's  knee.  "  Why  do  you  look  so  V  Don't  squeeze 
my  arm,  papa !" 

Mamma  was  utterly  unaware  that  Philip  had  any  cause  for 
agitation.  "  You  have  walked  all  the  way  from  Westminster 
and  the  club,  and  you  are  quite  hot  and  tired  !"  she  said.  u.  Some 
tea,  my  dear?" 

Philip  nearly  choked  with  the  tea.  From  under  his  hair, 
which  fell  over  his  forehead,  he  looked  into  his  wife's  face.  It 
wore  such  a  sweet  look  of  innocence  and  wonder  that,  as  he 
regarded  her,  the  spasm  of  jealousy  passed  off.  No :  there  was 
no  look  of  guilt  in  those  tender  eyes.  Philip  could  only  read  in 
them  the  wife's  tender  love  and  anxiety  for  himself. 

But  what  of  Mr.  Ringwood's  face  ?  When  the  first  little  blush 
and  hesitation  had  passed  away  Mr.  Ringwood's  pale  countenance 
reassumed  that  calm,  self-satisfied  smile  which  it  customarily 
wore.  "  The  coolness  of  the  man  maddened  me,"  said  Philip, 
talking  about  the  occurrence*  afterward,  and  to  his  usual  con- 
fidant. ,  # 

"  Gracious  Powers !"  cries  the  other.  "  If  I  went  to  see  Charlotte 
and  the  children  would  you  be  jealous  of  me,  you  bearded  Turk  ? 


ON   HIS    WAY   THROUGH   THE    WORLD.  463 

Are  you  prepared  with  sack  and  bow-string  for  every  man  who 
visits  Mrs.  Firmin  ?  If  you  are  to  come  out  in  this  character, 
you  will  lead  yourself  and  your  wife  pretty  lives.*  Of  course  you 
quarrelled  with  Lovelace  then  and  there,  and  threatened  to 
throw  him  out  of  window  then  and  there?  Your  custom  is  to 
strike  when  you  are  hot;  witness — " 

"  Oh,  dear  no!"  cried  Philip,  interrupting  me.  "I  have  not 
quarrelled  with  him  yet."  And  he  ground  his  teeth,  and  gave  a 
very  fierce  glare  with  his  eyes.  "  I  sat  him  out  quite  civilly.  I 
went  with  him  to  the  door;  and  I  have  left  directions  that  he  is 
never  to  pass  it  again — that's  all.  But  I  have  not  quarrelled 
with  him  in  the  least.  Two  men  never  behaved  more  politely 
than  we  did.  We  bowed  and  grinned  at  each  other  quite  amia- 
bly. But  I  own,  when  he  held  out  his  hand  I  was  obliged  to  keep 
mine  behind  my  back,  for  they  felt  very  mischievous,  and  inclined 
to —  Well,  never  mind.  Perhaps  it  is  as  you  say,  and  he 
means  no  sort  of  harm." 

Where,  I  say  again,  do  women  learn  all  the  mischief  they 
know  ?  Why  should  my  wile  have  such  a  mistrust  and  horror  of 
this  gentleman  V  She  took  Philip's  side  entirely.  She  said  she 
thought  he  was  quite  right  in  keeping  that  person  out  of  his 
house.  What  did  she.  know  about  that  person  ?  Did  I  not  know 
myself?  He  was  a  libertine,  and  led  a  bad  life.  lie  had  led 
young  men  astray,  and  taught  them  to  gamble,  and  helped  them 
to  ruin  themselves.  We  have  all  heard  stories  about  the  late  Sir* 
Philip  Ringwood;  that  last  scandal  in.  which  he  was  engaged 
three  years  ago,  and  which  brought  his  career  to  an  end  at 
Naples,  I  need  not,  of  course,  allude  to.  But  fourteen  or  fifteen 
years  ago,  about  which  time  this  present  portion  of  our  little  story 
is  enacted,  what  did  she  know  about  Ringwood's  misdoings? 

No:  Philip  Firmin  did  not  quarrel  with  Philip  Ringwood  on 
this  occasion.  But  he  shut  his  door  on  Mr.  Ringwood.  He 
refused  all  invitations  to  Sir  John's  house,  which,  of  course,  came 
less  frequently,  and  which  then  ceased  to  come  at  all.  Rich  folks 
do  not  like  to  be  so  treated  by  the  poor.  Had  Lady  Ringwood  a 
notion  of  the  reason  why  Philip  kept  away  from  her  house?  I 
think  it  is  more  than  possible.  Some  of  Philip's  friends  knew  her; 
and  she  seemed  only  pained,  not  surprised  or  angry,  at  a  quarrel 
which  somehow  did  take  place  between  the  two  gentlemen  not 
very  long  after  that  visit  of  Mr.  Ringwood  to  his  kinsman  in 
Milman  street. 

"Your  friend  seems  very' hot-headed  and  violent-tempered," 
Lady  Ringwood  said,  speaking  of  that  very  quarrel.  "I  am 
sorry  he  keeps  that  kind  of  company.  I  am  sure  it  must  be  too 
expensive  for  him." 

As  luck  would  have  it,  Philip's  old  school  friend,  Lord  Ascot, 
met  us  a  very  few  days  after  the  meeting  and  parting  of  Philip 
and  his  cousin  in  Milman  street,  and  invited  us  to  a  bachelor's 


4C,l  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

dinner  on  the  river.  Our  wives  (without  whose  sanction  no  good- 
man  would  surely  ever  look  a  whitebait  in  the  face)  gave  us 
permission  to  attend  this  entertainment,  iand  remained  at  home, 
and  partook  of  a  tea-dinner  (blessings  on  them  !)  with  the  dear 
children.  Men  grow  young  again  when  they  meet  at  these  par- 
ties. We  talk  of  flogging,  proctors,  old  cronies;  we  recite  old 
school  and  college  jokes.  I  hope  that,  some  of  us  may  carry  on 
these  pleasant  entertainments  until  we  are  fcfarscore,  and  that 
our  toothless  old  gums  will  mumble  the  old  stories,  and  will  laugh 
over  the  old  jokes  with  ever-renewed  gusto.  Does  the  kind 
reader  remember  the  account  of  such  a  dinner  at  the  commence- 
ment of  this  history  ?  On  this  afternoon,  Ascot,  Maynard,  Bur- 
roughs (several  of  the  men  formerly  mentioned)  reassembled. 
T  think  we  actually  like  each  other  well  enough  to  be  pleased  to 
hear  of  each  other's  successes.  I  know  that  one  or  two  good 
fellows,  upon  "whom  fortune  has  frowned,  have  found  other  good 
fellows  in  that  company  to  help  and  aid  them;  and  that  all  are 
better  for  that  kindly  freemasonry. 

Before  the  dinner  was  served  the  guests  met  on  the  green  of 
the  hotel,  and  examined  that  fair  landscape,  which  surely  does 
not  lose  its  charm  in  our  eyes  because  it  is  commonly  seen  before 
a  good  dinner.  The  crested  elms,  the  shining  river,  the  emerald 
meadows,  the  painted  parterres  of  flowers  around,  all  wafting  an 
agreeable  smell  of  friture,  of  flowers  and  flounders  exquisitely 
commingled.  Who  has  not  enjoyed  these  delights  ?  May  some 
of  us,  T  say,  live  to  drink  the  '58  claret  in  the  year  1900 !  I  have 
no  doubt  that  the  survivors  of  our  society  will  still  laugh  at  the 
jokes  which  we  used  to  relish  when  the  present  century  was  still 
only  middle-a<red.  Ascot  was  going  to  be  married.  Would  he 
be  allowed  to  dine  next  year?  Frank  Berry's  wife  would  not 
let  him  come.  Do  you  remember  his  tremendous  fight  with 
Bigws?  Remember?  who  did  n't?  Marston  was  Berry's  bottle- 
holder  ;  poor  Maivton,  who  was  killed  in  India.  And  B-iggs  and 
Berry  were  the  closest  friends  in  life  ever  after.  Who  would 
ever  have  thought  of  Brackley  becoming  serious,  and  being  made 
an  archdeacon?  Do  you  remember  his  fight  with  Ringwood? 
What  an  infernal  bully  he  was,  and  how  glad  we  all  were  when 
Brackley  thrashed  him !  What  different  fates  await  men  !  Who 
would  ever  have  imagined  Nosey  Brackley  a  curate  in  the  mining 
districts,,  and  ending  by  wearing  a  rosette  in  his  hat?  Who 
would  ever  have  thought  of  Ringwoo  1  becoming  such  a  prodigious 
swell  and  leader  of  fashion  ;  he  was  a  very  shy  fellow ;  not  at  all 
a  good-looking  fellow:  and  what  a  wild  fellow  he  had  become, 
and  what  a  lady-killer  !  Is  n't  he  some  connection  of  yours, 
Firmi  i  ?  Philip  said  yes.  but  that  he  had  scarcely  met  Ring  wood 
at  all.  And  one  man  after  another  told  anecdotes  of  Ringwood  ; 
how  he  had  young  men  to  play  in  his  house  ;  how  he  had  played 
in  that  very  "  Star  and  Garter ;''  and  how  he  always  won.     You 


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ON    HIS    WAY  ^THROUGH    THK    WORLD.  465 

must  please  to  remember  that  our  story  dates  back  some  sixteen 
years,  when  the  dice-box  still  rattled  occasionally,  and  the  king- 
was  turned.     - 

As  this  old  school-gossip  is  going  on.  Lord  Ascot  arrives,  and 
with  him  this  very  Ringwood  about  whom  the  old  school-fellows 
had  just  been  talking.  He  came  down  in  Ascot's  phaeton.  Of 
course,  the  greatest  man  of  the  party  always  waits  for  Ringwood. 
"  If  we  had  had  a  dnke  at  Grey  Friars,"  says  some  grumbler, 
"Ringwood  would  have  made  the  duke  bring  him  down." 

Philip's  friend,  when  he  beheld  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Ringwood, 
seized  Firmin's  big  arm  and  whispered — 

"  Hold  your  tongue.  No  fighting.  No  quarrels.  Let  by- 
gones be  by-gones.  Remember,  there  can  be  no  earthly  use  in  a 
scandal."        •.-.., 

"  Leave  me  alone,"  says  Philip,  "  and  don't  be  afraid." 

I  thought  Ringwood  seemed  to  start  back  for  a  moment,  and 
perhaps  fancied  that  he  looked  a  little  pale;  but  he  advanced 
with  a  gracious  smile  toward  Philip,  and  remarked,  "It  is  a  long 
time  since  we  have  seen  you  at  my  father^." 

Philip  grinned  and  smiled  too.  "  It  was  a  long  time  since  he 
had  been  in  Hill  street."  '  But  Philip's  smile  was  not  at  all 
pleasing  to  behold.  Indeed,  a  worse  performer  of  comedy  than 
our  friend  does  not  walk  the  stage  of  this  life. 

On  this  the  other  gayly  remarked  he  was  glad  Philip  had  leave 
to  join  the  bachelor's  party.  Meeting  of  old  school-fellows  very 
pleasant.  Had  n't  been  to  one  of  them  for  a  long  time  :  though 
the  u  Friars  '  was  an  abominable  hole:  that  was  the  truth.  Who 
was  that  in  the  shovel-hat?  a  bishop  ?  what  bishop? 

It  was  Bracklcy,  the  archdeacon,  who  turned  very  red  on 
seeing  Ringwood.  For  the  fact  is,  Braekiey  was  talking  to  Pen- 
nystone, the  little  boy  about  whom  the  quarrel  and  light  had 
taken  place  at  school,  when  Ringwood  had  proposed  forcibly  to 
take  Pe.nnystone's  money  from  him.  ''  I  think,  Mr.  Ringwood, 
that  Pennystone  is  big  enough  to  hold  his  own  now,  don't  you  ?" 
said  the  archdeacon  ;  and  with  this  the  venerable  man  turned  on 
his  heel,  leaving  Ringwood  to  face  the  little  Pennystone  o£ 
former  years,  now  a  gigantic  country  squire,  with  health  ringing 
in  his  voice,  and  a  pair  of  oreat  arms  and  fists  that  would  have 
demolished  six  Ring  woods  in  the  field. 

The  sight  of  these  quondam  enemies  rather  disturbed  Mr. 
Ringwood's  tranquillity. 

','1  was  dreadfully  bullied  at  that  school,"  he  said,  in  an 
appealing  manner,  to  Mr.  Pennystone.  "  I  did  as  others  did.  It 
was  a  horrible  place,  and  I  hate  the  name  of  it.  I  say,  Ascot, 
don't  you  think  that  Barnaby's  motion  last  night  was  very  ill- 
timed,  and  that  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  answered  him 
very  neatly  ?" 

This  became  a  cant  phrase  among  some  of  us  wags  afterward 
40 


466  THE   ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

Whenever  we  ■wished  to  change  a  conversation,  it  was,  "I  say, 
Ascot,  don't  you  think  Barnaby's  motion  was  very  ill-timed,  and 
the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  answered  him  very  neatly  ?" 
You  know  Mr.  Ringwood  would  scarcely  have  thought  of  coming 
among  such  common  people  as  his  old  school-fellows,  but  seeing " 
Lord  Ascot's  phaeton  at  Black's,  he  condescended  to  drive  down 
to  Richmond  with  his  lordship,  and  I  hope  a  great  number  of  his 
friends  in  St.  James'  street  saw  him  in  thai  noble  company. 

Windham  was  the  chairman  of  the  evening — elected  to  that 
post  because  he  is  very  fond  of  making  speeches  to  which  he  does 
not  in  the  least  expect  you  to  listen.  All  mGn  of  sense  are  glad 
to  hand  over  this  office  to  him  :  and  I  hope,  for  my  part,  a  day 
will  soon  arrive  (but  I  own,  mind  you,  that  I  do  not  carve  well) 
when  we  shall  have  the  speeches  done  by  a  skilled  waiter  at  the 
side-table,  as  we  now  have  the  carving.  Don't  you  find  that  you 
splash  the  gravy,  that  you  mangle  the  meat,  that  you  can't  nick 
the  joint  in  helping  the  company  to  a  dinner-speech  V  I,  for  my 
part, 'own  that  I  am  in  a  state  of  tremor  and  absence  of  mind 
before  the  operation ;  in  a  condition  of  imbecility  during  the 
business ;  and  that  I  am  sure  of  a  headache  and  indigestion 
the  next  morning.  What  then  ?  Have  I  not  seen  one  of 
the  bravest  men  in  the  world,  at  a  city-dinner  last  year,  in  a 
state  of  equal  panic  ?. . .  .1  feel  that  I  am  wandering  from  Philip's 
adventures  to  his  biographer's,  and  confess  I  am  thinking  of  the 
dismal  Jiasco  I  myself  made  on  this  occasion  at  the  Richmond 
dinner. 

You  see,  the  order  of  the  day  at  these  meetings  is  to  joke  at 
everything — to  joke  at  the  chairman,  at  all  the  speakers,  at  the 
army  and  navy,  at  the  venerable  the  legislature,  at  the  bar  and 
bench,  and  so  forth.  If  we  toast  a  barrister,  we  show  how  admi- 
rably he  would  have  figured  in  the  dock  :  if  a  sailor,  how  lamen- 
tably sea-sick  he  was :  if  a  soldier,  how  nimbly  he  ran  away. 
For  example,  we  drank  the  venerable  Archdeacon  Brackiey  and 
the  army.  We  deplored  the  perverseness  which  had  led  jiim  to 
adopt  a  black  coat  instead  of  a  red.  War  had  evidently  been 
his  vocation,  as  he  had  shown  by  the  frequent  battles  in  which 
he  had  been  engaged  at  school.  For  what  was  the  other  great 
warrior  of  the  age  famous  ?  for  that  Roman  feature  in  his  face, 
which  distinguished,  which  gave  a  name  to,  our  Brackiey — a 
name  by  which  we  fondly  clung.  (Cries  of  "Nosey,  Nosey!") 
Might  tha"t  feature  ornament  ere  long  the  face  of — of  one  of  the 
chiefs  of  that  aimy  of  which  he  was  a  distinguished  field-officer! 
Might —  Here  I  confess  I  fairly  broke  down,  lost  the  thread  of 
my  joke — at  which  Brackiey  seemed  to  look  rather  severe — and 
finished  the  speech  wi:h  a  gobble  about  regard,  esteem,  every- 
body respect  you,  and  good  health,  old  boy — which  answered 
quite  as  well  as  a  finished  oration,  however  the  author  might  be 
discontented  with  it. 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THK    WORLD.  467 

The  archdeacon's  little  sermon  was  very  brief,  as  the  discourses 
of  sensible  divines  sometimes  will  be.  He  was  glad  to  meet  old 
friends — to  make  friends  with  old  foes.  (Loud  cries  of  "  Bravo, 
Nosey !")  In  the  battle  of  life,  every  man  must  meet  with  a 
blow  or  two ;  and  every  brave  one  would  take  his  facer  with  good- 
humor.  Had  he  quarrelled  with  any  old  school-fellow  in  old 
times  ?  He  wore  peace  not  only  on  his  coat  but  in  his  heart. 
Peace  and  good-will  were  the  words  of  the  day  in  the  army  to 
which  he  belonged ;  and  he  hoped  that  all  officers  in  it  were 
animated  by  one  esprit  de  corps. 

A  silence  ensued,  during  which  men  looked  toward  Mr.  Ring- 
wood  as  the  "old  foe"  toward  whom  the  archdeacon  had  held  out 
the  hand  of  amity  :  but  llingwood,  who  had  listened  to  the  arch- 
deacon's speech  with  an  expression  of  great  disgust,  did  not  rise 
from  his  chair — otily  remarking  to  his  neighbor,  Ascot,  "  Why 
should  I  get  up  ?  Hang  him,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  I  say, 
Ascot,  why  did  you  induce  me  to  come  into  this  kind  of  thing*?" 

Fearing  that  a  collision  might  take  place  between  Philip  and 
his  kinsman,  I  had  drawn  Philip  away  from  the  place  in  the 
room  to  which  Lord  Ascot  beckoned  him,  saying,  "  Never  mind, 
Philip,  about  sitting  by  the  lord,"  by  whose  side  I  knew  per- 
fectly well  tjaat  Mr.  llingwood  would  find  a  place.  But  it  was 
our  lot  to  be  separated  from  his  lordship  by  merely  the  table's 
breadth,  and  some  intervening  vases  of  Howers  and  fruits  through 
which  we  could  see  and  hear  our  opposite  neighbors.  When 
llingwood  spoke  "of  this  kind  of  thing"  Philip  glared  across  the 
table,  and  started  as  if  he  was  going  to  speak  ;  but  his  neighbor 
pinched  him  on  the  knee,  and  whispered  to  him,  "  Silence — no 
scandal.  Remember  !"  The  other  fell  back,  swallowed  a  glass 
of  wine,  and  made  me  far  from  comfortable  by  performing  a  tat- 
too on  my  chair. 

The  speeches  went  on.  If  they  were  not  more  eloquent  they 
were  more  noisy  and  lively  than  before.  Then  the  aid  of  song 
was  called  in  to  enliven  the  banquet.  The  archdeacon,  who 
had  looked  a  little  uneasy  for  the  last  half  hour,  rose  up  at  the 
call  for  a  song,  and  quitted  the  room.  "  Let  us  go,  too,  Philip," 
said  Philip's  neighbor.  "  You  don't  want  to  hear  those  dreadful 
old  college  songs  over  again  '?"  But  Philip  sulkily  said,  "  You 
go  ;  I  should  like  to  stay." 

Lord  Ascot  was  seeing  the  last  of  his  bachelor  life.  He  liked 
those  last  evenings  to  be  merry  ;  he  lingered  over  them,  and  did 
not  wish  them  to  end  too  quickly.  His  neighbor  was  long  since 
tired  of  the  entertainment,  and  sick  of  our  company.  Mr.  Ring- 
wood  had  lived  of  late  in  a  world  of  such  fashion  that  ordinary 
mortals  were  despicable  to  him.  He  had  no  affectionate  remem- 
brance of  his  early  days,  or  of  anybody  belonging  to  them. 
While  Philip  was  singing  his  song  of  Doctor  Luther  I  was  glad 
that  he  could  not  see  the  face  of  surprise  and  disgust  which  his 


468  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

kinsman  bore.  Other  vocal  performances  followed,  including  a 
song  by  Lord  Ascot,  which,  I  am  bound  to  say,  was  hideously  out 
of  tune ;  but  was  received  by  his  near  neighbor  complacently 
enough. 

The  noise  now  began  to  increase,  the  choruses  were  fuller,  the 
speeches  were  louder  and  more  incoherent.  I  don't  think  the 
company  heard  a  speech  by  little  Mr.  Vanjohn,  whose  health 
was  drunk  as  representative  of  the  British  Turf,  and  who  said 
that  he  had  never  known  anything  aboijt  the  turf  or  about  play, 
until  their  old  school-fellow,  his  dear  friend — his  swell  friend,  if 
he  might  be  permitted  the  expression — Mr.  Ringwood,  taught 
him  the  use  of  cards ;  and  once,  in  bis  own  house,  in  May  Fair, 
and  once  in  this  very  house,  the  "  Star  and  Garter,"  showed  him 
how  to  play  the  noble  game  of  Blind  Hookey.  "  The  men  are 
drunk.  Let  us  go  away,  Ascot.  I  did  n't  come  for  this  kind  of 
thing!"  cried  Ringwood,  furious,  by  Lord  Ascot's  s-id^. 

This  was  the  expression  which  Mr.  Ringwood  had  used  a  short 
time  before,  when  Philip  was  about  to  interrupt  him.  Pie  had 
lifted  his  <jun  to  fire  then,  but  his  hand  had  been  held  back.  The 
bird  passed  him  once  more,  and  he  could  not  help  taking  aim. 
"  This  kind  of  tiling  is  very  dull,  isn't  it,  Ringwood  ?"  he  called 
across  the  table,  pulling  away  a  flower,  and  glaring^t  the  other 
through  the  little  opfn  space. 

"  Dull,  old  boy  V  I  call  if,  doosed  good  fun,"  cries  Lord  Ascot, 
in  the  height  of  good-humor. 

!•  Dull  V     What  do  you  mean  V"  asked  my  lord's  neighbor. 

"  1  mean,  you  would  prefer  having  a  couple  of  packs  of  cards, 
and  a  little  room,  where  you  could  win  three  or  four  hundred 
from  a  young  fellow  V  It 's  more  profitable  and  more  quiet  than 
«  this  kind  of  thing.'" 

"I  say,  J  don't  know  what  you  mean  !"  cries  the  other. 

"  What !  You  have  forgotten  already  V  Has  not  Vanjohn 
just  told  you,  how  you  and  Mr.  Deuceace  brought  him  down 
here,  and  won  his  money  from  him  ;  and  then  how  you  gave  h;m 
his  revenge  at  your  own  house  in — " 

"  Did  I  come  here  to  be  insulted  by  that  fellow  ?"  crits  Mr. 
Ringwood,  appealing  to  his  neighbor. 

"  If  that  is  an  insult  you  may  p.ut  it  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it, 
Mr.  Ringwood  !"  cried  Philip. 

"  Come  away,  come  away,  Ascot !  Don't  keep  me  here  listen- 
ing to  this  bla — " 

"  If  you  say  another  word,"  says  Philip,  "  I  '11  send  this  de- 
canter at  your  head  !" 

"Come,  come— nonsense !  No  quarrelling!  Make  it  up  1 
Everybody  has  had  too  much  !  Get  the  bill,  and  order  the 
omnibus  round  !"  A  crowd  was  on  one  side  of  the  table  and  the 
other.  One  of  the  cousins  had  not  the  least  wish  that  the 
quarrel  should  proceed  any  farther. 


ON    HIS    WAY    TH HOUGH    THE    WOHLI).  460 

When,  being  in  a  quarrel,  Philip  Firuiin  assumes  the  calm  and 
stat eli-  manner,  he  is  perhaps  in  his  most  dangerous  state.  Lord 
Ascot's  phaeton  (in  which  Mr.  Riugwood  showed  a  great  unwil- 
lingness to  take  a  seat  by  the  driver)  was  at  the  hqfcel-gate  ;  an 
omnibus  ami  a  private  carriage  or  two  were  in  readiness  to  take 
home  the  other  quests  of  the  feast.  Ascot  went  into  the  hotel  to 
light  a  final  cigar,  and? now  Philip,  springing  forward,  caught  by 
the  arm  the  gentleman  sitting  on  the  front  seat  of  the  phaeton. 

M  Stop  !"  he  said.     "  You  used  a  word  just  now — " 

"  What  word  ?  I  don't  know  anything  about  words !"  cries 
the  other,  in  a  loud  voice. 

M  You  said  '  insulted,' "  murmured  Philip,  in  the  gentlest  tone. 

u  1  don't  know  what  I  said,"  said  Ring  wood,  peevishly. 

"  I  said,  in  reply  to  the  words  which  you  forget,  '  that  I  would 
knock  you  down,' or  words  to  that  effect  If  you  feel  in  the 
least  aggrieved,  you  know  where  my  chambers  are— with  Mr. 
Vanjohn,  whom  you  and  your  mistress  inveigled  to  play  cards 
when  he  was  a  boy.  You  are  not  fit  to  come  into  an,  honest 
man's  house,  it  was  only  because  I  wished  to  spare  a  lady's 
feelings  that  I  refrained  from  turning  you  out  of  mine.  Good- 
night, Ascot !"  and  with  great  majesty  Mr.  Philip  returned  to  his 
companion  and  the  Hansom  cab  which  was  in  waiting  to  convey 
these,  two  gentlemen  to  London. 

[  was  quite  correct  in  my  surmise  that  Philip's  antagonist  would 
take  no  further  notice  of  the  quarrel  to  Philip,  personally.  In- 
deed, he  affected  to  treat  it  as  a  drunken  brawl,  regarding  which 
no  man  of  sense  would  allow  himself  to  be  seriously  disturbed. 
A  quarrel  between  two  men  of  the  same  family — between  Philip 
and  his  own  relative  who  had  only  wished  him  well  ?  It  was 
absurd  and  impossible.  What  Mr.  Ring  wood  deplored  was  the 
obstinate  ill-temper  and  known  violence  of  Philip,  which  were 
forever  leading  him  into  these  brawls,  and  estranging  his  family 
from  him.  A  man  seized  by  the  coat,  insulted,  threatened  with 
a  decanter !  A  man  of  station  so  treated  by  a  person  whose  own 
position  was  most  questionable,  whose  father  was  a  fugitive,  and 
who  himself  was  struggling  for  precarious  subsistence  !  The 
arrogance  was  too  great.  With  the  best  wishes  for  the  unhappy 
young  man,  and  his  amiable  (but  empty-headed)  little  wife,  it 
was  impossible  to  take  further  notice  of  them.  Let  the  visits 
cease.  Let  the  carriage  no  more  drive  from  Berkeley  square  to 
Mil  man  street.  Let  there  be  no  presents  of  game,  poultry,  legs 
of  mutton,  old  clothes,  and  what  not.  Henceforth,  therefore, 
the  llingwood  carriage  was  unknown  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Foundling,  and  the  Ringwood  footman  no  more  scented  with 
their  powdered  heads  the  Firmins'  little  hall-ceiling.  Sir  John 
said  to  the  end  that  he  was  about  to  procure  a  comfortable  place 
for  Philip  when  his  deplorable  violence  obliged  Sir  John  to  break 
off  all  relations  with  the  most  misguided  young  man. 


4  70  TUB    ADVEM'Btt**    OF    PHILIP 

Nor  was  the  end  of  the  mischief  here.  We  have  all  read  how 
the  gods  never  appear  alone — the  gods  bringing  good  or  evil 
fortune.  When  two  or  three  little  pieces  of  good  luck  had  be- 
fallen our  j*)or  friend,  my  wife  triumphantly  cried  out,  "  I  told 
you  so  !  Did  I  not  always  say  that  heaven  would  befriend  that 
dear,  innocent  wife  and  children;  that  brave,  generous,  impru- 
dent father  ?"  And  now  when  the  evil  days  came,  this  monstrous 
logician  insisted  that  poverty,  sickness,  dreadful  doubt  and  terror, 
hunger  and  want  almost,  were  all  equally  intended  for  Philip's 
advantage,  and  would  work  for  good  in  the  end.  So  that  rain 
was  good,  and  sunshine  w*as  good ;  so  that  sickness  was  good,  and 
health  was  good ;  that  Philip  ill  was  to  be  as  happy  as  Philip  well, 
and  as  thankful  for  a  sick  house  and  an  empty  pocket  as  for  a  warm 
fireside  and  a  comfortable  larder.  Mind,  I  ask  no  christian  philoso- 
pher to  revile  at  his  ill-fortunes,  or  to  despair.  I  will  accept  a 
toothache  (or  any  evil  of  life),  and  bear  it  without  too  much 
grumbling.  But  I  can  not  say  that  to  have  a  tooth  pulled  out 
is  a  blessing,  or  fondle  the  hand  which  wrenches  at  my  jaw. 

"  They  can  live  without  their  fine  relations,  and  their  donations 
of  mutton  and  turnips,"  cries  my  wife,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 
M  The  way  in  which  those  people  patronized  Philip  and  dear 
Charlotte  was  perfectly  intolerable.  Lady  Ring  wood  knows  how 
dreadful  the  conduct  of  that  Mr.  Rinrjwood  is,  and — and  I  have  no 
patience  with  her  I"  How,  I  repeat,  do  women  know  about  men  ? 
How  do  they  telegraph  to  each  other  their  notices  of  alarm  and 
mistrust  ?  and  fly  as  birds  rise  up  with  a  rush  and  a  skurry  when 
danger  appears  to  be  near  ?  All  this  was  very  well.  But  Mr. 
„Tregarvan  heard  some  account  of  the  dispute  between  Philip 
and  Mr.  Ringwood,  and  applied  to  Sir  John  for  further  particu- 
lars ;  and  Sir  John — liberal  man  as  he  was  and  ever  had  been, 
and  priding  himself  little,  heaven  knew,  on  the  privilege  of  rank, 
which  was  merely  adventitious — was  constrained  to  confess  that 
this  young  man's  conduct  showed  a  great  deal  too  much  laissez 
aller.  He  had  constantly,  at  Sir  John's  own  house,  manifested 
an  independence  which  had  bordered  on  rudeness;  he  was  always 
notorious  for  his  quarrelsome  disposition,  and  lately  had  so  dis- 
graced himself  in  a  scene  with  Sir  John's  eldest  son,  Mr.  Ring- 
wood — had  exhibited  such  brutality,  ingratitude,  and — and  ine- 
briation, that  Sir  John  was  free  to  confess  he  had  forbidden  the 
gentleman  his  door. 

"An  insubordinate,  ill-conditioned  fellow,  certainly !"  thinks 
Tregarvan.  (And  I  do  not  say,  though  Philip  is  my  friend,  that 
Tregarvan  and  Sir  John  were  altogether  wrong  regarding  their 
protege)  Twice  Tregarvan  had  invited  him  to  breakfast,  and 
Philip  had  not  appeared.  More  than  once  he  had  contradicted 
Tregarvan  about  the  Review.  He  had  said  that  the  Review  was 
not  getting  on,  and  if  you  asked  Philip  his  candid  opinion,  it 
would  not  get  on.     Six  numbers,  had  appeared,  and  it  did  not 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.         4  71 

meet  with  that  attention  which  the  public  ought  to  pay  to  it. 
The  public  was  careless  as  to  the  designs  of  that  Great  Power 
which  it  was  Tregarvan's  aim  to  defy  aud  confound.  He  took 
counsel  with  himself.  He  walked  over  to  the  publisher's  and  in- 
spected the  books;  and  the  result  of  that  inspection  was  so  dis- 
agreeable that  he  went  home  straightway  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
Philip  Firmin,  Esq.,  New  Milman  street,  Guildford  street,  which 
that  poor  fellow  brought  to  his  usual  advisers. 

That  letter  contained  a  check  for  a  quarter's  salary,  and  bade 
adieu  to  Mr.  Firmin.  The  writer  would  not  recapitulate  the 
causes  of  dissatisfaction  which  he  felt  respecting  the  conduct  of 
the  Review.  He  was  much  disappointed  in  its  progress,  and  dis- 
satisfied with  its  general  management.  He  thought  an  opportu- 
nity was  lost  which  never  could  be  recovered  for  exposing  the 
designs  of  a  Power  which  menaced  the  liberty  and  tranquillity  of 
Europe.  Had  it  been  directed  with  proper  energy  that  Review 
might  have  been  an  aegis  to  that  threatened  liberty,  a  lamp  to 
ligbten  the  darkness  of  that  menaced  freedom.  It  might  have 
pointed  the  way  to  the  cultivation  bonarum  lilemrum;  it  might, 
have  fostered  rising  talent;  it  might  have  chastised  the  arrogance 
of  so-called  critics;  it  might  have  served  the  cause  of  truth. 
Tregarvan's  hopes  were  disappointed:  he  would  not  say  by  whose 
remissness  or  fault.  He  had  done  his  utmost  in  the  good  work ; 
and,  finally,  would  thank  Mr.  Firmin  to  print  off  the  articles 
already  purchased  and  paid  for,  and  to  prepare  a  brief  notice  for 
the  next  number,  announcing  the  discontinuance  of  the  Review  ; 
and  Tregarvan  showed  my  wife  a  cold  shoulder  for  a  considera- 
ble time  afterward,  nor  were  we  asked  to  his  tea-parties,  I  forget 
for  how  many  seasons. 

This  to  us  was  no  great  Iqss  or  subject  of  annoyance :  but  to 
poor  Philip  ?  It  was  a  matter  of  life  and  almost  death  to  him. 
He  never  could  save  much  out  of  his  little  pittance.  Here  were 
fifty  pounds  in  his  hand,  it  is  true ;  but  bills,  taxes,  rent,  the 
hundred  little  obligations  of  a  house,  were  due  and  pressing 
upon  him;  and  in  the  midst  of  his  anxiety  our  dear  little  Mrs. 
Philip  was  about  to  present  him  with  a  third  ornament  to  his 
nursery.  Poor  little  Tertius  arrived  duly  enough ;  and  such 
hypocrites  were  we,  that  the  poor  mother  was  absolutely  think- 
ing of  calling  the  child  Tregarvan  Firmin,  as  a  complimeut  to 
Mr.  Tregarvan,  who  had  been  so  kind  to  them,  and  Tregarvan 
Firmin  would  be  such  a  pretty  name,  she  thought.  We  imagin- 
ed the  Little  Sister  knew  nothing  about  Philip's  anxieties.  Of 
course,  she  attended  Mrs.  Philip  through  her  troubles,  and  we 
vow  that  we  never  said  a  word  to  her  regarding  Philip's  own. 
But  Mrs.  Brandon  went  in  to  Philip  one  day,  as  he  was  sittting 
very  grave  and  sad  with  his  two  lirst-born  children,  and  she  took 
both  his  hands  and  said,  "  You  know,  dtvar,  I  have  saved  ever 
so  much  :  and  I  always  intended  it  for — you  know  who."  And 
here  she  loosened  one  hand  from  him,  and  felt  in  her  pocket  for 


472  THE   ADVENTURES   OF    PIIILIP 

a  purse,  and  put  it  into  Philip's  hand,  and  wept  on  his  shoulder. 
And  Philip  kissed  her,  and  thanked  God  for  sending  him  suoh  a 
dear  friend,  and  gave  her  back  her  purse,  though  iudeed  he  had 
but  five  pounds  left  in  his  own  when  this  benefactress  came  to 
him. 

Yes;  but  there  were  debts  owing  to  him.  There  was  his 
wife's  little  portion  of  fifty  pounds  a  year,  which  had  never  been 
paid  since  the  second  quarter  after  their  marriage,  which  had^ 
happened  now  more  than  three  years  ago.  As  Philip  had  scarce 
a  guiuea  in  the  world,  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Baynes,  his  wife's 
mother,  to  explain  his  extreme  want,  and  to  remind  her -that 
this  money  was  due.  Mrs.  General  Baynes  was  living  at  Jersey 
at  this  time. in  a  choice  society  of  half-pay  ladies,  clergymen, 
captains,  and  the  like,  among  whom,  I  have  no  doubt,  she  moved 
as  a  great  lady.  She  wore  a  large  medallion  of  the  deceased 
general  on  her  neck.  She  wept  dry  tears  over  that  interesting 
cameo  at  frequent  tea-parties.  She  never  could  forgive  Philip  for 
taking  away  her  child  from  her,  and  if  any  one  would  take  away 
others  of  her  girls  she  would  be  equally  unforgiving.  Endowed 
with  that  wonderful  logic  with  which  women  are  blessed,  I 
believe  she  never  admitted,  or  has  been  able  to  admit  in  her 
own  mind,  that  she  did  Philip  and  her  daughter  a  wrong.  In 
the  tea-parties  of  her  acquaintance  she  groaned  over  the 
extravagance  of  her  son-in-law  and  his  brutal  treatment  of  her 
blessed  child.  Many  good  people  agreed  with  her,  and  shook 
their  respectable  noddles  when  the  name  of  that  prodigal  Philip 
was  mentioned  over  her  muffins  and  Bohea.  He  was  prayed 
for ;  his  dear  widowed  mother-in-law  was  pitied,  and  blessed 
with  all  the  comfort  reverend  gentlemen  could  supply  on  the 
spot.  "  Upon  my  honor,  Firrain,  »Emily  and  I  were  made  to 
believe  that  you  were  a  monster,  sir — with  cloven  feet  and  a 
forked  tail,  by  George  ! — and  now  I  have  heard  your  story,  by 
Jove,  I  think  it  is  you  and  not  Eliza  Baynes  who  were  wronged. 
She  has  a  deuce  of  a  tongue,  Eliza  has ;  and  a  temper — poor 
Charles  knew  what  that  was  !"  In  fine,  when  Philip,  reduced 
to  his  last  guinea,  asked  Charlotte's  mother  to  pay  her  debts  to 
her  sick  daughter,  Mrs.  General  B.  sent  Philip  a  ten-paund 
note,  open,  by  Captain  Swang,  of  the  Indian  army,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  coming  to  England.  And  that,  Philip  says,  of  all 
the  hard  knocks  of  fate,  has  been  the  very  hardest  which  he  has 
had  to  endure. 

But  the  poor  little  wife  knew  nothing  of  this  cruely,  nor, 
indeed,  of  the  poverty  which  was  hemming  round  her  curtain ; 
and  in  the  midst  of  his  griefs  Philip  Firmin  was  immensely  con- 
soled by  the  tender  fidelity  of  the  friends  whom  God  had  sent 
him.  Their  griefs  were  drawing  to  an  end  now.  Kind  readers 
all,  may  your  sorrows,  may  mine,  leave  us  with  hearts  not 
embittered,  and  humbly  acquiescent  to  the  Great  Will. 


ON    1118    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  473 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

IN    WHICH    WE    REACH    THE    LAST    STAGE    BUT    ONE    OF    THIS 

JOURNEY. 

Although  poverty  was  knocking  at  Philip's  humble  door,  little 
Charlotte  in  all  her  trouble  never  knew  how  J^»*™ft*K 
visitor   had    been.     She   did    not   quite   wj«^-th*t   her 
husband  in  his  last  necessity  sent  to  her  mother  for  tar doe, «* 
that  the  mother  turned  away  and  refused  hnn.        Ah     thought 
Door  Philip,  groaning  in  his  despair,  "I  wonder  whether  the 
O  attacked^  man  in  the  parable  were  robbers  of  his 
own  family,  who  knew  that  he  carried  money  with  him  to  Jeru 
ntem  Z\  waylaid  him  on  the  journey  ?"     But  again  and  again 
h     haV     ankid  God,  with  grateful  heart,  for  the   Samantans 
whom  he  has  nut  on  life's  road;  and  if  he  has  °£*"B"";£ 
must  be  owned  he   has  never  done   any  wrong  to  those  who 

robbed  him.  .  ...    »•    i     ,. 

Charlotte  did   not  know  that   her   husband  was  ***»*»* 
guinea,  and  a  prey  to  dreadful  anxiety  for  ^er  dear  sake  for 
after    the    birth  of  .her  child  a    fever  came   upon  her,  in  the 
delirium  consequent  upon  which  the  poor  thing  ^igWWJ* 
of  all  that  happened  round   her.     A  fortnight  with  a .wife_an 
extremity^  with  crying  infants,  with    hunger   menacing  at  the 
door    parsed  for  Philip  somehow.     The  young  man  became m» 
old  man  in  this  time.     Indeed,  his  fair  hair  was  streaked  with 
white  at  the  temples  afterward..  But  it  must  not  be  imagined 
that  he  had  not  friends  during  his  affliction,  and  he  aljap  can 
gratefully  count  up  the   names  of  many  persons  to  whom    he 
might  have  applied  had  he  been  in  need      He  did  no ;   look  01 
ask  for  these  succors  from  his  relatives.     Aunt  and  uncle >  Twys 
den  shrieked  and  cried  out  at  his  .f^^S^S?^Si 
and  folly.     Sir  John   Ringwood  said   he  must  really  wash  his 
hands  ox  a  young  man  who  menaced  the  bfe* Njij^ 
Grenville    Woolcomb,  with   many  oaths    in    which   biot  | 

law  Ringwood  joined  chorus,  cursed  Philip,  and  sa  d  he  did _  n  t 
care   and  the  bUar  ought  to  be  hung,  and  Ins  father  ought  to 
b'hung      But  llink  f know  half  a  do.ugood-a,^ 
who  told  a  different  tale,  and  who  were  ready with  t er rsyn pa 
thv  and  succor.     Did  not  Mrs.  Flanagan,  the    n  h  laumb^ , m 
a  -voice  broken  by  sobs  and  gin,  offer  to  go  and  chare  at  I  Mgi 
house  for  nothing,  and  nurse  thedear  AUndT  Did  n Good 
enouffh  sav,  "  If  you  are  in  need,  my  dear  fellow,  of  coarse  you 
know"  wnere  to  cW'  and  did  he  not  actua  y  give  two ££ 
trcintintti    one  for  poor  Charlotte,  one   for  fifty  pounds  to  De 
S'^nXX*^  be  handed  *  the  nurse  testate 
Yon  may  be  sure  she  did  not  appropriate >  the  money,  tor    ot 
course  your  know  that  the  nurse  was  Mrs  Brandon.     Chariot te 
haTo  e)remorse  in  her  life.     She  owns  she  was  jealous  ot  the 


474  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Little  Sister.  And  now,  when  that  gentle  life  is  over,  when 
Philip's  poverty  trials  are  ended,  when  the  children  go  some- 
times and  look  wistfully  at  the  grave  of  their  dear  Caroline, 
friend  Charlotte  leans  her  head  against  her  husband's  shoulder, 
and  owns  humbly  how  good,  how  bravo,  how  generous  a  friend 
heaven  sent  them  in  that  humble  defender. 

Have  you  ever  felt  the  pinch  of  poverty  ?  In  many  cases  it 
is  like  the  dentist's  chair,  more  dreadful  in  the  contemplation 
than  in  the  actual  suffering.  Philip  says  he  never  was  fairly 
beaten  but  on  that  day  when,  in  reply  to  his  solicitation  to  have 
his  due,  Mrs.  Baynes'  friend,  Captain  Swang,  brought  him  the 
open  ten-pound  note.  It  was  not  much  of  a  blow ;  the  hand 
which  dealt  it  made  the  hurt  so  keen.  "  I  remember,"  says  he, 
"  bursting  out  crying  at  school  because  a  big  boy  hit  me  a  slight 
tap,  and  other  boys  said,  '  Oh,  you  coward!'  It  was  that  I 
knew  the  boy  at  home,  aud  my  parents  had  been  kind  to  him. 
It  seemed  to  me  a  wrong  that  Bumps  should  strike  me,"  said 
Philip  ;  and  he  looked,  while  telling  the  story,  as  if  he  could 
cry  about  this  injury  now.  I  hope  he  has  revenged  himself  by 
presenting  coals  of  fire  to  his  wife's  relations.  But  this  day, 
when  he  is  enjoying  good  health  and  competence,  it  is  not  safe 
to  mention  mothers-in-law  in  his  presence.  He  fumes,  shouts, 
and  rages  against  them  as  if  all  were  like  his ;  and  his,  I  have 
been  told,  is  a  lady  perfectly  well  satisfied  with  herself  and  her 
conduct  in  this  world  ;  aud  as  for  the  next — but  our  story  does 
not  dare  to  point  so  far.  It  only  interests  itself  about  a  little 
clique  of  people  here  below — their  griefs,  their  trials,  their 
weaknesses,  their  kindly  hearts. 

People  there  are  in  our  history  who  do  not  seem  to  me  to 
have  kindly  hearts  at  all ;  and  yet,  perhaps,  if  a  biography 
could  be  written  from  their  point  of  view,  some  other  novelist 
might  show  how  Philip  and  his  biographer  were  a  pair  of  selfish 
worldlings,  unworthy  of  credit ;  how  uncle  and  aunt  Twysden 
were  most  exemplary  people,  and  so  forth.  Have  I  not  told  you 
how  many  people  at  New  York  shook  their  heads  when  Philip's 
name  was  mentioned,  and  intimated  a  strong  opinion  that  he 
used  his  father  very  ill  ?  When  he  fell  wounded  and  bleeding, 
patron  Tregarvan  dropped  him  off  his  horse,  and  cousin  King- 
wood  did  not  look  behind  to  see  how  he  fared.  Bat  these,  again, 
may  have  had  their  opinion  regarding  our  friend,  who  may  have 
been  misrepresented  to  them.  I  protest,  as  1  look  back  at  the 
nineteen  past  portions  of  this  history,  I  begin  to  have  qualms, 
and  ask  myself  whether  the  folks  of  whom  we  have  been  prat- 
tling have  had  justice  done  to  them;  whether  Agnes  Twysden 
is  not  a  suffering  martyr  justly  offended  by  Philip's  turbulent 
behavior;  and  whether  Philip  deserves  any  particular  attention 
or  kindness  at  all.  He  is  not  trauscendently  clever;  he  is  not 
gloriously  beautiful.  He  is  not  about  to  illuminate  the  darkness 
in  which  the  peoples  grovel  with  the  flashing  emanations  of  his 


ON    HI8    WAT    THROUGH    THE    WOKf,D.  4  75 

truth.  He  sometimes  owes  money  which  he  can  not  pay.  He 
slips,  stumbles,  blunders,  brags.  Ah  !  he  sins  and  repents — pray 
heaven — of  faults,  of  vanities,  of  pride,  of  a  thousand  short- 
comings!  This  I  say — Ego — as  my  friend's  biographer.  Per- 
haps I  do  not  understand  the  other  characters  round  about  him 
so  well,  and  have  overlooked  a  number  of  their  merits,  and 
caricatured  and  exaggerated  their  little  defects. 

Among  the  Samaritans  who  came  to  Philip's  help  in  these  his 
straits  he  loves  to  remember  the  name  of  J.  J.,  the  painter,  whom 
he  found  sitting  with  the  children  one  day  making  drawings  for 
them,  which  the  good  painter  never  tired  to  sketch. 

Now  if  those  children  would  but  have  kept  Ridley's  sketches, 
and  waited  for  a  good  season  at  Christy's,  I  have  no  doubt  they 
might  have  got  scores  of  pounds  for  the  drawings  ;  but  then, 
you  see,  they  chose  to  improve  the  drawings  with  they*  own 
hands.  They  painted  the  soldiers  yellow,  the  horses  blue,  and  so 
forth.  On  the  horses  they  put  soldiers  of  their  own  construc- 
tion. Ridley's  landscapes  were  enriched  with  representations  of 
"  omnibuses "  which  the  children  saw  and  admired  in  the 
neighboring  New  Road.  I  dare  say,  as  the  fever  left  her,  and  as 
she  canie  to  see  things  as  they  were,  Charlotte's  eyes  dwelt  fondly 
on  the  pictures  of  the  omnibuses  inserted  in  Mr.  Ridley's 
sketches,  and  she  put  some  aside  and  showed  them  to  her  friends, 
and  said,  "  Does  n't  our  darling  show  extraordinary  talent  for 
drawing  ?  .  Mr.  Ridley  says  he  does.  He  did  a  great  part  of 
this  etching." 

But  besides  the  drawings,  what  do  you  think  Master  Ridley 
offered  to  draw  for  his  friends  ?  Besides  the  prescriptions  of 
medicine,  what  drafts  did  Dr.  Goodenough  prescribe  ?  When 
nurse  Brandon  came  to  Mrs.  Philip  in  her  anxious  time,  we  know 
what  sort  of  payment  she  proposed  for  her  services.  Who  says 
the  world  is  all  cold  ?  There  is  the  suu  and  the  shadows.  And 
the  heaven  which  ordains  poverty  and  sickness  sends  pity,  and 
love,  and  succor. 

During  Charlotte's  fever  and  illness,  the  Little  Sister  had  left 
her  but  for  one  day,  when  her  patient  was  quiet,  and  pronounced 
to  be  mending.  It  appears  that  Mrs.  Charlotte  was  very  ill  in- 
deed on  this  occasion ;  so  ill  th^t  Dr.  Goodenough  thought  she 
might  have  given  us  all  the  slip  :  so  ill  that,  but  for  Brandon,  she 
would,  in  all  probability,  have  escaped  out  of  this  troublous 
world  and  left  Philip  and  her  orphaned  little  ones.  Charlotte 
mended  then ;  could  take  food,  and  liked  it,  and  was  specially 
pleased  with  some  chickens  which  her  nurse  informed  her  were 
"  from  the  country."  "  From  Sir  John  Ringwood,  no  doubt  ?" 
said  Mrs.  Firmin,  remembering  the  presents  sent  from  Berkeley 
square,  and  the  mutton  and  the  turnips. 

"  Well,  eat  and  be  thankful  !"  says  the  Little  Sister,  who  was 
as  gay  as  a  little  sister  could  be,and  who  had  prepared  a  beauti- 
ful bread  sauce  for  the  fowl ;  and  who  had  tossed  the  baby,  and 


476  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

who  showed  it  to  its  admiring  brother  and  sister  ever  so  many 
times  :  and  who  saw  that  Mr.  Philip  had  his  dinner  comfortable  ; 
and  who  never  took  so  much  as  a  drop  of  porter — at  home  a 
little  glass  sometimes  was  comfortable,  but  on  duty,  never,  never  ! 
No,  not  if  Dr.  Goodenough  ordered  it !  she  vowed.  And  the 
doctor  wished  he  could  say  as  much,  or  believe  as  much,  of  all 
his  nurses. 

Milman  street  is  such  a  quiet  little  street  that  our  friends  had' 
not  carpeted  it  in  the  usual  way ;  and  three  days  after  her 
temporary  absence,  as  nurse  Brandon  sits  by  her  patient's  bed, 
powdering  the  back  of  a  small  pink  iufant  that  makes  believe  to 
swim  upon  her  apron,  a  rattle  of  wheels  is  heard  in  the  quiet 
.street — of  four  wheels,  of  one  horse,  of  a  jingling  carriage,  which 
stops  before  Philip's  door.  "  It  's  the  trap,"  says  nurse  Bran- 
don, (flighted.  "  It  must  be  those  kind  Ringwoods,"  says  Mrs. 
Philip.  M  But  stop,  Brandon.  Did  not  they,  did  not  we  ? — oh, 
how  kind  of  them  !"  She  was  trying  to  recall  the  past.  Past 
and  present  for  days  had  been  strangely  mingled  in  her  fevered 
brain.  "  Hush,  my  dear !  you  are  to  be  kep'  quite  still,"  says  the 
nurse — and  then  proceeded  to  finish  the  polishing  and  powder- 
ing of  the  pink  frog  on  her  lap. 

The  bedroom  window  was  open  toward  the  sunny  street:  but 
Mrs.  Philip  did  not  hear  a  female  voice  say,  "  'Old  the  'ors^s  'ead, 
Jim,"  or  she  might  have  been  agitated.  The  horse's  head  was 
held,  and  a  gentleman  and  a  lady  with  a  great  basket  containing 
peas,  butter;  greens,  flowers,  and  other  rural  produce,  descended 
from  the  vehicle  and  rang  at  the  bell. 

Philip  opened  it:  with  his  little  ones,  as  usual,  trotting  at  his 
knees. 

"  Why,  my  darlings,  how  you  air  grown  !:'  cries  the  lady. 

"  By-gones  be  by-gones.  Give  us  your  'and,  Firmiu  :  here  *s 
mine.  My  missus  has  brought  some  country  butter  and  things 
for  your  dear  good  lady.  And  we.  hope  you  liked  the  chickens. 
And  God  bless  you,  old  fellow,  how  are  you  ?"  The  tears  were 
rolling  down  the  good  man's  cheeks  as  he  spoke.  And  Mrs. 
Mugford  was  likewise  exceedingly  hot,  and  very  much  affected. 
And  the  children  said  to  her,  "  Mamma  is  better  now  ;  and  we 
have  a  little  brother,  and  he  is  crying  now  up  stairs." 

"  Bless  you,  my  darlings !"  Mrs.  Mugford  was  off  by  this 
time.  She  put  down  her  peace-offering  of  carrots,  chickens, 
bacon,  butter.  She  cried  plentifully.  "  It  was  Brandon  came 
and  told  us,"  she  said  ;  "  and  when  she  told  us  how  all  your  great 
people  had  flung  you  over,  and  you  'd  been  quarrelling  again, 
you  naughty  fellar,  I  says  to  Mugford,  '  let 's  go  and  see  after 
that  dear  thing,  Mugford,'  I  says.  And  here  we  are.  And  year  's 
two  nice  cakes  for  your  children  "  (after  a  forage  in  the  cornu- 
copia), "  and,  'lor,  how  they  are  grown  !" 

A  little  nurse  from  the  up  stairs  regions  here  makes  her 
appearance,  holding  a  bundle  of  cashmere  shawls,  part  of  which 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  *    477 

is  removed,  and  discloses  a  being  pronounced  to  be  ravishingfy 
beautiful,  and  "jest  like  Mrs.  Mugford's  Emaly  !" 

"I  say","  says  Mugford,  u  the  old  shop  's  still  open  to  you.  T' 
other  cliap  would  'nt  do  at  all.  He  was  wild  when  he  got  the 
drink  on  board.  Hirisli.  Pitched  into  Bickerton,  and  black' d 
'is  eye.  It  was  Bickerton  who  told  you  lies  about  that  poor 
lady.  Don't  see  Jiin  no  more  now.  Borrowed  some  money  of 
me;  have  'nt  seen  him  since.  We  were  both  wrong,  and 'we 
must  make  it  up — the  missus  says  *we  must." 

"Amen  I"  said  Philip,  with  a  grasp  of  the  honest  fellow's 
hand.  And  next  Sunday  he  and  a  trim  little  sister,  and  two 
children,  went  to  an  old  church  in  Queen  square,  Bloomsbury, 
which  was  fashionable  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  when  Richard 
Steele  kept  house,  and  did  not  pay  rent,  hard  by.  And  when 
the  clergyman  in  the  Thanksgiving  particularized  those  who 
desired  now  to  "  offer  up  their  praises  and  thanksgiving  for  late 
mercies  vouchsafed  to  them,"  once  more  Philip  Firinin  said 
"Amen,"  on  his  knees,  and  with  all  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE  REALMS  OF  BLISS. 

You  know — all  good  boys  and  girls  at  Christmas  know — that, 
before  the  last  scene  of  the  pantomime,  when  the  Good  Fairy  as- 
cends in  a  blaze  of  glory,  and  Harlequin  and  Columbine  take 
hands,  having  danced  through  all  their  tricks  and  troubles  and 
tumbles,  there  is  a  dark,  brief,  seemingly  meaningless  penulti 
mate  scene,  in  which  the  performers  appear  to  grope  about 
perplexed,  while  the  music  of  bassoons  and  trombones,  and  the 
like,  groans  tragically.  As  the  actors,  with  gestures  of  dismay 
and  outstretched  arms,  move  hither  and  thither,  the  wary  fre- 
quenter of  pantomimes  sees  the  illuminators  of  the  Abode  of 
Bliss  and  Hall  of  Prismatic  Splendor  moving  nimbly  behind  the 
canvas,  and  streaking  the  darkness  with  twinkling  fires — flres 
which  shall  blaze  out  presently  in  a  thousand  colors  round  the 
.Good  Fairy  in  the  Revolving  Temple  of  Blinding  Bliss.  Be 
happy,  Harlequin !  Love  and  be  happy  and  dance,  pretty 
Columbine!  Children,  mamma  bids  you  put  your  shawls  on. 
And  Jack  and  Mary  (who  are  young  and  love  pantomimes)  look 
lingeringly  still  over  the  ledge  of  the  box,  while  the  fairy  tempfe 
yet  revolves,  while  the  fireworks  play,  and  ere  the  Great  Dark 
Curtain  descends. 

My  dear  young  people,  who  have  sate  kindly  through  the 
scenes  during  which  our  entertainment  has  lasted,  be  it  known  to 
you  that  last  chapter  was  the  dark  scene.  Look  to  your  cloaks, 
and  tie  up  your  little  throats,  for  I  tell  you  the  great  blaze  will 
soon  fall  down.    Have  I  had  any  secrets  from  you  all  through  the 


4T8  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

pfece  ?  I  tell  you  the  house  -will  be  empty,  and  you  will  be  in 
the.  cold  air.  When  the  boxes  have  got  their  night-gowns  on, 
and  you  are  all  gone,  and  I  have  turned  off  the  gas,  and  am  in 
the  empty  theatre  alone  in  the  darkness,  I  promise  you  I  shall 
not  be  merry.  Never  mind  !  We  can  make  jokes  though  we 
are  ever  so  sad.  We  can  jump  over  head  and  heels,  though  I 
declare  the  pit  is  half  emptied  already,  and  the  last  orange- 
woman  has  slunk  away.  Encore  une  pirouette,  Columbine ! 
Saute,  Arlequin,  mon  ami !  Though  there  are  but  five  bars  more 
of  the  music,  my  good  people,  we  must  jump  over  them  briskly, 
and  then  go  home  to  supper  and  bed. 

Philip  Firmin,  then,  was  immensely  moved  by  this  magna- 
nimity and  kindness  on  the  part  of  his  old  employer,  and  has 
always  considered  Mugford's  arrival  and  friendliness  as  a  special 
interposition  in  his  favor.  He  owes  it  all  to  Brandon,  he  says. 
It  was  she  who  bethought  herself  of  his  condition,  represented 
it  to  Mugford,  and  reconciled  him  to  his  enemy.  Others  were 
most  ready  with  their  money.  It  was  Brandon  who  brought  him 
work  rather  than  alms,  and  enabled  him  to  face  fortune  cheer- 
fully. 'His  interval  of  poverty  was  so  short,  that  he  actually  had. 
not  occasion  to  borrow.  A  week  more,  and  he  could  not  have 
held  out,  and  poor  Brandon's  little  marriage  present  must  have 
gone  to  the  cenotaph  of  sovereigns — the  dear  Little  Sister's  gift 
which  Philip's  family  cherish  to  thisjiour. 

So  Philip,  with  an  humbled  heart  and  demeanor,  clambered 
up  on  his. sub-editorial  stool  once  more  at  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 
and  again  brandished  the  paste-pot  and  scissors.  I  forget  whether 
Bickerton  still  remained  in  command  at  the  Pall  Mail  Gazette, 
or  was  more  kind  to  Philip  than  before,  or  was  afraid  of  him, 
having  heard  of  his  exploits  as  a  fire-eater;  but  certain  it  is,  the 
two  did  not  come  to  a  quarrel,  giving  each  other  a  wide  berth,  as. 
the  saying  is,  and  each  doing  his  own  duty.  Good^by,  Monsieur 
Bickerton.  Except,  mayhap,  in  the  final  group  round  the 
Fairy  Chariot  (when,  I  promise  you,  there  will  be  such  a  blaze 
of  glory  that  he  will  be  invisible),  we  shall  never  see  the  little 
spiteful,  envious  creature  any  more.  Let  him  pop  down  his 
appointed  trap-door;  and,  quick,  fiddles !  let  the  brisk  music  jig 
on. 

Owing  to  the  cpolness  which  had  arisen  between  Philip  and 
his  father  on  account  of  their  different  views  regarding  the  use 
to  be  made  of  Philip's  signature,  the  old  gentleman  drew  no 
farther  bills  in  his  son's  name,  and  our  friend  was  spared  from 
the  unpleasant  persecution.  Mr.  Hunt  loved  Dr.  Firmin  so 
ardently  that  he  could  not  bear  to  be  separated  from  the  doctor 
long.  Without  the  doctor,  London  was  a  dreary  wilderness  to 
Hunt.  Unfortunate  remembrances  of  past  pecuniary  transac- 
tions haunted  him  here.  We  were  all  of  us  glad  when  he  finally 
retired  from  the  Covent  Garden  taverns  and  betook  himself  to 
the  Bowery  once  more. 


ON    HIS    WAY   THBOUGH    THE   WORLD.    *  479 

And  now  friend  Philip  was  at  work  again,  hardly  earning  a 
scanty  meal  for  sol f, -wife,  servant,  children.  It  was  indeed  a  meagre 
meal  and  a  small  wage.  Charlotte's  illness,  and  others  mishaps,  had 
swept  away  poor  Philip's  little  savings.  Jt  was  determined  that 
we  would  let  the  elegantly  furnished  apartments  on  the  first  floor. 
You  might  have  fancied  the  proud  Mr.  Firmin  rather  repugnant 
to  such  a  measure.  And  so  he  was  on  the  score  of  convenience, 
but  of  dignity,  not  a  whit.  To  this  day,  if  necessity  called,  Phi- 
lip would  turn  a  mangle,  with  perfect  gravity.'  I  believe  the 
thought  of  Mrs.  General  liay ties'  horror  at  the  idea  of  her  son- 
in-law  letting  lodgings  greatly  soothed  and  comforted  Philip. 
The  lodgings  were  absolutely  taken  by  our  country  acquaintance, 
Miss  Pybus,  who  was  coming  up  for  the  May  meetings,  and  whom 
we  persuaded  (heaven  be  good  to  us !)  that  she  would  find  a  most 
desirable  quiet  residence  in  the  house  of  a  man  with  three  squall- 
ing children.  Miss  P.  came,  then,  with  my  wife  to  look  at  the 
^apartments ;  and  we  allured  her  by  describing  to  her  the  delight- 
ful musical  services  at  the  Foundling  hard  by;  and  she  was  very 
much  pleased,  with  Mrs.  Philip,  and  did  not  even  wince  at  the 
elder  children,  whose  pretty  faces  won  the  kind  old  lady's  heart: 
and  I  am  ashamed  to  say  we  were  mum  about  the  baby;  and 
Pybus  was  going  to  close  for  the  lodgings,  when  Philip  burst  out 
of  his  little  room,  without  his  coat,  I  believe,  and  objurgated  a 
little  printer's  boy,  who  was  sitting  in  the  hall,  waiting  for  some 
"copy"  regarding  which  he  had  made  a  blunder;  and  Philip 
used  such  violent  language  toward  the.  little  lazy  boy,  that  Pybus 
said  "  she  never  could  think  of  taking  apartments  in  that  house," 
and  hurried  thence  in  a  panic.  When  Brandon  heard  of  this 
project  of  letting  lodgings,  she  was  in  a  fury.  She  might  let 
lodgin's,  but  it  w«s  n't  for  Phjlip  to  do  so.  "  Let  lodgin's,  indeed ! 
Buy  a  broom,  and  sweep  a  crossin'  !*'  Brandon  always  thought 
Charlotte  -a  poor-spirited  creature,  and  the  way  she  scolded  Mrs. 
Firmin  about  this  transaction  was  not  a  little  amusing.  Charlotte- 
was  not  angry.  She  liked  the  scheme  as  little  as  Brandon.  No 
other  person  ever  asked  for  lodgings  in  Charlotte's  house.  May 
and  its  meetings  came  to  an  end.  The  old  ladies  went  back  to 
their  country-towns.  The  missionaries  returned  to  CafTraria. 
(Ah  !  where  are  the  pleasant-looking  Quakeresses  of  our  youth, 
with  their  comely  faces  and  pretty  dove-colored  robes  V  They 
say  the  goodly  sect  is  dwindling — dwindling.)  The  Quakeresses 
went  out  of  town  :  then  the  fashionable  world  began  to  move  : 
the  Parliament  went  out  of  town.  In  a  word,  everybody  who 
could  made  away  for  a  holiday,  while  poor  Philip  remained  at  his 
work,  snipping  and  pasting  his  paragraphs,  and  doing  his  humble 
drudgery. 

A  sojourn  on  the  sea-shore  was  prescribed  by  Dr.  Goodenough 
as  absolutely  necessary  for  Charlotte  and  her  young  ones,  and 
when  Philip  pleaded  certain  cogent  reasons  why  the  family  could 
not  take  the  medicine  prescribed  by  the  doctor,  that  eccentric 


480  •  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

physician  had  recourse  to  the  same  pocket-book  which  we  have 
known  him  to  produce  on  a  former  occasion  ;-and  took  from  it, 
for  what  I  know,  some  of  the  very  same  notes  which  he  had  for- 
merly given  to  the  Little  Sister.  "  I  suppose  you  may  as  well 
have  them  as  that  rascal  Hunt  ?'-'  said  the  doctor,  scowling  very 
fiercely.  "  Don't  tell  me.  Stuff  and  nonsense.  Pooh  !  Pay  me 
when  you  are  a  rich  man  !"  And  this  Samaritan  had  jumped 
into  his  carriage  and  was  gone  before  Philip  or  Mrs.  Philip  could 
say  a  word  of  thanks.  Look  at  him  as  he  is  going  off.  See 
the  green  brougham  drive  away,  an4  turn  westward,  and  mark 
it  wejl.  A  shoe  go  after  thee,  John  Goodenough  ;  we  shall  see 
thee  no  more  in  this  story.  You  are  not  in  the  secret,  good 
reader ;  but  I,  who  have  been  living  with  certain  people  for  many 
months  past,  and  have  a  hearty  liking  for  some  of  them,  grow 
very  soft  when  the  hour  for  shaking  hands  comes,  to  think  v/e  are 
to  meet  no  more.  Go  to !  when  this  tale  began,  and  for  some 
months  after,  a  pair  of  kind  old  eyes  used  to  read  these  pages^ 
which  are  now  closed  in  the  sleep  appointed  for  all  of  us.  And 
so  page  is  turned  after  page,  and  behold  Finis  and  the  volume's 
end. 

So  Philip  and  his  young  folks  came  down  to  Periwinkle  bay, 
where  we  were  staying,  and  the  girls  in  the  two  families  nursed 
the  baby,  and  the  child  and  mother  got  health  and  comfort  frdm 
the  fresh  air,  and  Mr.  Mugford — who  believes  himself  to  be  the. 
finest  sub-editor  ic  the  world — and  I  can  tell  you  there  is  a  great 
art  in  sub-editing  a  paper — Mr.  Mugford,  I  say,  took  Philip's 
scissors  and  paste-pot,  while  the  latter  enjoyed  his  holiday.  And 
J.  J.  Ridley,  R.A.,  came  and  joined  us  presently,  and  we  had 
many  sketching  parties,  and  my  drawings  of  the  various  points 
about  the  bay,  viz.,  Lobster  Head,  the  Moiluso%Rocks,  etc,  etc., 
are  considered  to  be  very  spirited,  tnough  my  little  boy  (who  cer- 
tainly has  not  his  father's  taste  for  art)  mistook  for  the  rock  a 
really  capital  portrait  of  Philip,  in  a  gray  hand  paletot,  sprawl- 
ing on  the  sand. 

Some  twelve  miles  inland  from  the  bay  is  the  little  Town  of 
Whipham  Market,  and  Whipham  skirts  the  park  paiiirigs  of 
that  castle  where  Lord  Ringwood  had  lived,  and  where  Philip's 
mother  was  born  and  bred.'  There  is  a  statue  of  the  late  lord 
in  Whipham  market-place.  Could  he  have  had  his  will,  the 
borough  would  have  continued  to  return  two  members  to  Par- 
liament, as  in  the  good  old  times  before  us.  In  that  ancient  and 
grass-grown  little  place,  where  your  footsteps  echo  as  they  pass 
through  the  street — where  you  hear  distinctly  the  creaking  of 
the  sign  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms"  hotel  and  posting-house,  and 
the  opposition  creaking  of  the  "  Ram  Inn  "  over  the  way — where 
the  half-pay  captain,  the  curate,  and  the  medical  man  stand 
before  the  fly-blown  window-blind  of  the  "  Ringwood  Institute  1 
and  survey  the  strangers — there  is  still  a  respect  felt  for  the 
memory  of  the  great  lord  who  dwelt  behind  the  oaks  in  yonder 


ON    HTS-  VAT   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  48 

ball.  He  bad  bis  faults.  His  lordship's  life  was  not.  that  of  an 
anchorite.  The  company  his  lordship  kept,  especially  in  his 
latter  days,  was  not  of  that  select  description  which  a  nobleman 
of  his  lordship's  rank  might  command.  But  he  was  a  good 
friend  to  Whipham.  He  waft  a  pood  landlord  to  a  good  tenant. 
If  he  had  his  will  Whipham  would  have  kept  its  own.  His  lord- 
ship paid  half  the  expense  after  the  burning  of  the  town-hall. 
He  was  an  arbitrary  man,  certainly,  and  he  flogged  Alderman 
Duffle  before  bis  own  shop,  but  he  apologised  for  it  most,  hand- 
somely afterward.  Would  the  gentlemen  like  port  or  sherry? 
Claret  not  called  for  in  Whiphant ;  not  at  all :  and  no  fish,  be- 
cause all  the  fish  at  Periwinkle  bay  is  bought  up  and  goes  to 
London.  Such  were  (he  remarks  made  by  the  landlord  of  the 
Ringwood  Arms  to  three  cavaliers  who  entered  that  hostelry. 
And  you  may  be  sure  he  told  us  about  Lord  Ring  wood's  death 
in  the  post-chaise  as  he  came  from  Turreys  R>gum  ;  and  how 
his  lordship  went  through  them  gates  (pointing  to  a  pair  of  gates 
and  lodges  which  skirt  the  town),  and  was  drove  up  to  the  cas- 
tle? and  laid  in  state;  and  his  lordship  never  would  take  the  rail- 
way, never;  and  he  always  travelled  like  a  nobleman,  and  when 
lie  came  to  a  hotel  and  changed  horses,  he  always  called  for  a 
bottle  of  wine,  and  only  took  a  glass,  and  sometimes  not  even 
that.  And  the  present  Sir  John  has  kept  no  company  here  as 
yet ;  and  they  say  he  is  close  of  his  money,  they  say  be  is. 
And  this  is  certain,  Whipham  have  n't  seen  much  of  it,  Whipham 
have  n't. 

We  went  into  the  inn-yard,  which  may  have  been  once  a 
stirring  place,  and  then  sauntered  up  to  the  park  gate,  sur- 
mounted by  the  supporters  and  armorial  bearings  of  the  Ring- 
woods.  •*  I  wonder  whether  my  poor  mother  came  out  of  that 
gate  when  she  eloped  with  my  fat  her  V  said  Philip.  "  Poor 
thing,  poor  thing  ["  The  great  gates  were  shut.  The  wester- 
ing sun  cast  shadows  over  the  sward  where  here  and  there  the 
deer  were  browsing,  and  at  some  mile  distance  lay  the  house, 
with  its  towers  an/1  porticoes  and  vanes  flaming  the  sun.  The 
smaller  gate  was  open,  and  a  girl  was  standing  by  the  lodge- 
door.     Was  the  house  to  be  seen  ? 

"Yes,"  says  a  little  red-cheeked  girl,  with  a  courtesy. 

"  No !''  calls  out  a  harsh  voice  from  within,  and  an  old  woman 
comes  out  from  the  lodge  and  looks  at  us  fiercely.  4t  Nobody  is 
to  go  to  the  house.     The  family  is  a-eoming." 

That  was  provoking.  Philip  would  have,  liked  to  b^iold  the 
great  house  where  his  mother  and  her  ancestors  were  born. 

"Marry,  good  dame,"  Philip's  companion  said  to  the  old  bel- 
dam, "  this  goodly  gentiemau  hath  a  right  of  entrance  to  yon- 
der castle,  which,'  1  trow,  ye  wot  not  of  Heard  ye  never  tell 
of  one  Philip  Ringwood,  siain  at  Bunco's  glorious  li — " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  and  dont  chaff  her,  Pen,"  growled  Firmin. 
-11 


482  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

"  Nay,  and  she  knows  not  Philip  Ringwood's  grandson,"  the 
other  wag  continued,  in  a  softened  tone.  "  This  will  convince 
her  of  our  right  to  enter.  Canst  recognise  this  image  of  your 
queen  ?" 

"  Well,  I  suppose  'ee  can  go  up,"  said  the  old  woman,  at  the 
sight  of  this  talisman.  "  There  's  only  two  of  them  staying 
there,  and  they  're  out  a  drivin'." 

Philip  was  bent  on  seeing  the  halls  of  his  ancestors.  Gray 
and  huge,  with  towers,  and  vanes,  and  porticoes,  they  lay  before 
us  a  mile  off,  separated  from  us  by  a  streak  of  glistening  river. 
A  great  chestnut  avenue  led  up  to  the  river,  and  in  the  dappled 
grass  the  deer  were  browsing. 

You  know  the  house,  of  course.  There  is  a  picture  of  it  in 
Watts,  bearing  date  1783.  A  gentleman  in  a  cocked  hat  and 
pigtail  is  rowing  a  lady  in  a  boat  on  the  shining  river.  Another 
nobleman  in  a  cocked  hat  is  angling  in  the  glistening  river  from 
the  bridge,  over  which  a  post-chaise  is  passing. 

"Yes,  the  place  is  like  enough,"  said  Philip;  "but  I  mips  the 
post-chaise  going  over  the  bridge,  and  the  lady  in  the  punt  w*ith 
the  tall  parasol.  Don't  you  remember  the  print  in  our  house- 
keeper's room  in  Old  Parr  street  V  My  poor  mother  used  to 
tell  me  about  the  house,  and  I  imagined  it  grander  than  the 
palace  of  Aladdin.  It  is  a  very  handsome  house,"  Philip  went 
on.  "  '  It  extends  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet  by  seventy-five, 
and  consists  of  a  rustic  basement  and  principal  story,  with  an 
attic  in  the  centre — the  whole  executed  in  stone.  The  grand 
front  toward  the  park  is  adorned  with  a  noble  portico  of  the 
Corinthian  order,  and  may  with  propriety  be  considered  one  of 
the  finest  elevations  in  the — .'  j  1  tell  you  I  am  quoting  out  of 
Watts'  '  Seats  of  the  Nobility  and  Gentry,'  published  by  John 
and  Josiah  Boydell,  and  lying  in  our  drawing-room.  Ah,  dear 
me !  I  painted  the  boat  and  the  lady  and  gentleman  in  the 
drawing-room  copy,  and  my  father  boxed  my  ears,  and  my 
mother  cried  out — poor,  dear  soul !  And  this  is  the  river,  is  it  ? 
And  over  this  the  post-chaise  went  with  the  club-tailed  horses, 
and  here  was  the  pigtailed  gentleman  fishing.  It  gives  one  a 
queer  sensation,"  says  Philip,,  standing  on  the  bridge  and 
stretching  out  his  big  arms.  "  Yes,  there  are  the  two  people  in 
the  punt  by  the  rushes.  I  can  see  them,  but  you  can't;  and  I 
hope,  sir,  you  will  have  good  sport."  And  here  he  took  oft'  his 
hat  to  an  imaginary  gentleman  supposed  to  be  angling  from  the 
balustrade  for  ghostly  gudgeon.  We  reach  the  house  presently. 
We  ring  at  a  door  in  the  bast  ment  under  the  portico.  The 
porter  demurs,  and  says  some  of  the  family  is  down,  but  they 
are  out,  to  be  sure.  The  same  half-crown  argument  answers  with 
him  which  persuaded  the  keeper  at  the  lodge.  We  go  through 
the  show-rooms  of  the  sCatery  but  somewhat  faded  and  melan- 
choly palace.     In  the  cedar  dining-room  there  hangs  the  grim 


ON    HIS    WAY   TIIROUGH    THE    WORLD.  488 

portrait  of  the  late  earl ;  and  that  fair-haired  officer  in  red  ?  that 
must  be  Philip's  grandfather.  ■  And  those  two  slim  girls  embrac- 
ing, surely  those  are  his  mother  and  his  aunt.  Philip  walks.softly 
through  the  vacant  rooms.  He  gives  the  porter  a  gold  piece 
ere  he  goes  out  of  the  great  hall,  forty  feet  cube,  ornamented 
with  statues  brought  from  Rome  by  John,  first  Baron,  namely  : 
Heliogabalus,  Nero's  mother,  a  priestcps  of  Isis,  and  a  river  god; 
the  pictures  over  the  doors  by  Pedimento;  the  ceiling  by  Leo- 
tardi,  etc.;  and  in  a  window  in  the  great  hall  there  is  a  table 
with  a  visitors'-book,  in  which  Philip  writes  his  name.  As  we 
went  away  we  met  a  carriage  which  drove  rapidly  toward  the 
house,  and  which  no  doubt  contained  the  members  of  the  Ring- 
wood  family,  regarding  whom  the  porteress  had  spoken.  After 
the  family  differences  previously  related  we  did  not  care  to  face 
these  kinsfolks  of  Philip,  and  passed  on  quickly  in  twilight  be- 
neath the  rustling  umbrage  of  the  chestnuts.  J.  J.  saw  a  hun- 
dred  fine  pictorial  effects  as  we  walked :  the  palace  reflected  in 
the  water  ;  the  dappled  deer  under  the  checkered  shadow  of  the 
trees.  It  was,  "  Oh,  what  a  jolly  bit  of  color  1"  and,  "I  say, 
look,  how  well  that  old  woman's  red  cloak  comes  in  1"  and  so 
forth.  Painters  never  seem  tired  of  their  work.  At  seventy 
they  are  students  still — patient,  docile,  happy.  May  we,  too, 
my  good  but,  live  for  fourscore  years,  and  never  be  too  old  to 
learn  !  The  walk,  the  brisk  accompanying  conversation,  amidst 
stately  scenery  around,  brought  us  with  good  appetites  and 
spirits  to  our  inn,  where  we  were  told  that  dinner  would  be 
served  when  the  omnibus  arrived  from  the  railway. 

At  a  short  distance  from  the  Ringwood  Arms,  and  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  street,  is  the  Ram  Inn,  neat  post-chaises,  and 
farmers'  ordinary;  a  house  of  which  the  pretensions  seemed 
less,  though  the  trade  was  somewhat  more  lively.  When  the 
tooting  of  the  horn  announced  the  arrival  of  the  omnibus  trom 
the  railway,  I  should  think  a  crowd  of  at  least  fifteen  people  as- 
sembled at  various  doors  of  the  High  street  and  Market.  The 
half-pay  captain  and  the  curate  came  out  from  the  Ringwood 
Athenseum.  The  doctor's  apprentice  stood  on  the  step*  of  the 
surgery  door,  and  the  surgeon's  lady  looked  out  from  the  first 
floor.  We  shared  the  general  curiosity.  We  and  the  waiter 
stood  at  the  door  of  the  Ringwood  Arms.  We  were  mortified 
to  see  that  of  the  five  persons  conveyed  by  the  'bus,  one  was  a 
tradesman,  who  descended  at  his  door  (Mr.  Packwood,  the  sad- 
dler, so  the  waiter  informed  us),  three  travellers  were  discharged* 
at  the  Ram,  and  only  one  came  to  us. 

"  Mostly  bagmen  goes  to  the  Ram,"  the  waiter  said,  with  a 
scornful  air ;  and  these  bagmen  and  their  bags  quitted  the  om- 
nibus.   ' 

Only  one  passenger  remained  for  the  Ringwood  Arms  hotel, 
.and  he  presently  descended  under  the  parte  cochere ;  and  the 
omnibus — I  own,  with  regret,  it  was  but  a  one-horse  machine — 


484  THR    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

drove  rattling  into  the  court-yard,  where  the  bells  of  the  "  Star," 
the  "George,"  the  "Rodney,"  the  "Dolphin,"  and  so  on,  had 
once  been  wont  to  jingle,  and  the  court  had  echoed  with  the 
noise  and  clatter  of  hoofs  and  hostlers,  and  the  cries  of  "  First 
and  second,  turn  out !" 

Who  was  the  merry-faced  little  gentleman  in  black,  who  got 
out  of  the  omnibus,  and  cried,  when  he  saw  us,  "What!  you 
here  ?"  It  was  Mr.  Bradgate,  that  lawyer  of  Lord  Ringwood's 
with  whom  we  made  a  brief  acquaintance  just  after  his  lord- 
ship's death.  "  What !  you  here  ?"  cries  Bradgate  then  to  Philip. 
"  Come  down  about  this  business,  of  course  ?  Very  glad  that 
you  and — and  certain  parties  have  made  it  up.  Thought  you 
were  n't  friends."  0 

What  business  ?  What  parties  ?  We  had  not  heard  the 
news?  We  had  only  come  over  from  Periwinkle  bay  by 
chance,  in  order  to  see  the  house. 

"  How  very  singular  !  Did  you  meet  the — the  people  who 
were  staying  there  V" 

We  said  we  had  seen  a  carriage  pass,  but  did  not  remark  who 
was  in  it.  What,  however,  was  the  news?  Well.  It  would 
be  known  immediately,  and  would  appear  in  Tuesday's  Gazette. 
The  news  was  that  Sir  John  Rintiwood  was  going  to  take  a 
peerage,  and  that  the  seat  for  Whiphain  would  be  vacant.  And 
herewith  our  friend  produced  from  his  travelling-bag  a  procla- 
mation, which  he  read  to  us,  and  which  was  addressed : 

"TO  THE  WORTHY  AND  INDEPENDENT  ELECTORS 
OF  THE  BOROUGH  OF  RINGWOOD. 

"  London,  Wednesday. 

"  Gentlemen  :  A  gracious  Sovereign  having  been  pleased 
to  ordt* r  that  the  family  of  Ringwood  should  continue  to  be  rep- 
resented in  the  House  of  Peers,  I  take  leave  of  my  friends  and 
constituents  who  have  given  me  their  kind  confidence  hitherto, 
and  promise  them  that  my  regard  for  them  will  never  cease,  or 
my  interest  in  the  town  and  neighborhood  where  my  family 
have  dwelt  for  many  centuries.  The  late  lamented  Lord  Ring- 
wood's  brother  died  in  the  service  of  his  Sovereign  in  Portugal, 
following  the  same  flag  under  which  his  ancestors  for  centuries 
have  fought  and  bled.  My  own  son  serves  the  Crown  in  a  civil 
capacity.  It  was  natural  that  one  of  our  name  and  family 
should  continue  the  relations  which  so  long  have  subsisted  be- 
tween  us  and  this  loyal,  affectionate,  but  independent  borough. 
Mr.  Ringwcod's  onerous  duties  in  the  office  which  he  holds  are 
sufficient  to  occupy  his  time.  A  gentleman  united  to  our  family 
by  the  closest  ties  will  oiler  himself  as  a  candidate  for  your 
suffrages — " 

"  Why,  who  is  it  ?  He  is  not  going  to  put  in  uncle  Twysden, 
or  my  sneak  of  a  cousin  ?" 

"  No,"  gave  Mr.  Bradgate. 


Olf    HIS   WAY  THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  485 

"  Well,  bless  my  soul !  he  can't  mean  me,"  said  Philip.  "Who 
is  the  dark  horse  he  has  in  his  stable  V" 

Then  Mr.  Bradgrate  laughed.  "  Dark  horse  you  may  call 
him.  The  new  member  is  to  be  Grenville  Woolcomb,  Esq., 
your  West  Indian  relative,  and  no  other." 

Those  who  know  the  extreme  energy  of  Mr.  P.  Firmin's  lan- 
guage when  he  is.  excited,  may  imagine  the  explosion  of  Philip- 
pine wrath  which  ensued  as  our  friend  heard  this  name.  "  That 
miscreant:  that  skinflint:  that  wealthy  crossing-sweeper:  that 
ignoramus,  who  scarce  could  do  more  than  sign  his  name!  Oh, 
it  was  horrible,  shameful !  Why,  the  man  is  on  such  ill  terms 
with  his  wife  that  they  say  he  strikes  her.  When  I  see  him  I 
feel  inclined  to  choke  him  and  murder  him.  Thai  brute  going 
into  Parliament,  and  the  republican  Sir  John  Ilingwood  send- 
ing him  there  !     It 's  monstrous  !" 

M  Family  arrangements.  Sir  John,  or,  I  should  say,  my  Lord 
Ilingwood,  is  one  of  the  most  afl'ectionate  of  parents,"  Mr.  Brad- 
gate  remarked.  **  He  Gas  a  large  family  by  his  second  marriage, 
aud  his  estates  goto  his  eldest  son.  We  must  not  quarrel  with 
Lord  Ilingwood  for  wishing  to  provide  for  his  young  ones.  I 
don't  say  that  he  quite  acts  up  to  the  extreme  Liberal  principles 
of  Avhich  he  was  once  rather  fond  of  boa>ting.  But  if  you  were 
offer,  d  a  peerage,  what  would  you  do  V  what  would  I  do  ?  If  you 
wanted  money  for  your  young  ones*  and  could  get  it,  would  you 
not  take  it  V  Come,  come,  don't  let  us  have  too  much  of  this 
Spartan  virtue !  If  we  were  tried,  my  good  friend,  we  should 
not  be  much  worse  or  better  than  our  neighbors.  Is  my  fly  com- 
ing, waiter'?"  We  asked  Mr.  Bradgate  to  defer  his  departure, 
and  to  share  our  dinner.  But  he  declined,  and  said  he  must  <*o 
up  to  the  great  house,  where  he  and  his  client  had  plenty  of 
business  to  arrange,  and  whe.re  no  doubt  he  would  stay  for  the 
night.  He  bade  the  inn  servants  put  his  portmanteau  into  his 
carriage  when  it  came.  "  The  old  lord  had  some  famous  port- 
wine,"  he  said ;  "  I  hope  mv  friends  have  the  key  of  the  cel- 
lar." 

The  waiter  was  just  putting  our  meal  on  the  table,  as  we  stood 
in  the  bow-window  of  the  Ilingwood  Arms  coffee-room,  engaged 
in  this  colloquy.  Hence  we  could  see  the  street,  and  the  oppo- 
sition inn  of  the  Ham,  where  presently  a  great  placard  was 
posted.  At  least  a  dozen  street  boys,  shopmen,  and  rustics 
were  quickly  gathered  round  this  manifesto,  and  we  ourselves 
went  out  to  examine  it.  The  Ram  placard  denounced,  in  terms 
of  unmeasured  wrath,  the  impudent  attempt,  from  the  Castle  to 
dictate  to  the  free  and  independent  electors  of  the  borough. 
Freemen  were  invited  not  to  promise  their  votes;  to  show  them- 
se.lres  worthy  of  their  name  ;  to  submit  to  no  Castle  dictation. 
A  county  gentleman  of  property ?  of  influence,  of  liberal  prin- 
ciples—no West  Indian,  no  Castle  Flunky,  but  a  True 
English  Gentleman,  would  come  forward  to  rescue  them 


486  THE   ADVENTURES   OF    PI1ILIP 

from  the  tyranny  under  which  they  labored.  On  this  point  the 
electors  might  rely  on  the  word  of  A  Briton. 

"  This  was  brought  down  by  the  clerk  from  Bedloe's.  He  and 
a  newspaper  man  came  down  in  the  train  with  me  ;  a  Mr.  — " 

As  he  spoke,  there  came  forth  from  the  u  Ram"  the  newspa- 
per man  of  whom  Mr.  Bradgate,  spoke — an  old  friend  and  com- 
rade of  Philip,  that  energetic  man  and  able  reporter,  Phipps, 
of  the  Daily  Intelliycncer,  who  recognized  Philip,  and  cordially 
greeting  him,  asked  what  he  did  down  here,  and  supposed  he 
had  come  to  support  his  family. 

Philip  explained  that  we  were  strangers,  had  come,  from  a 
neighboring  watering-place  to  see  the  home  of  Philip's  ances- 
tors, and  was  not  ev^n  aware  until  then  that  an  electioneering 
contest  was  pending  in  the  place,  or  that  Sir  John  Ring  wood 
was  about  to  be  promoted  to  the  peerage.  Meanwhile,  Mr. 
Bradgate's  fly  had  driven  out  of  the  hotel-yard  of  the  .Ring- 
wood  Arms,  and  the  lawyer  running  to  the  house  for  a  bag  of 
papers,  jumped  into  the  carriage  and  called  to  the  coachman  to 
drive  to  the  castle. 

u  Bon  appetit .'"  says  he,  in  a  confident  tone,  and  he  was 
gone. 

"  Would  Phipps  dine  with  us  ?"  Phipps  whimpered,  "  I  am  on 
the  other  side,  and  the  Ratal  is  our  house." 

We,  who  were  on  no  side,  entered  info  the  Ringwood  Arms, 
and  sat  down  to  our  meal — to  the  mutton  and  the  catsup,  cauli- 
flower and  potatoes,  the  copper-edged  side-dishes,  and  the  wa- 
tery melted  butter,  with  which  strangers  are  regaled  in  inns  in 
declining  towns.  The  town  harfdiuh,  who  had  read  the  placard 
at  the  Ram,  now  came  to  peruse  the  proclamation  in  our  win- 
dow. 1  dare  say  thirty  pairs  of  clinking  boots  stopped  before 
the  one  window  and  the  other  the  while  we  ate  tough  mutton 
and  drank  fierv  sherry.  And  J.  J.,  leaving  his  dinner,  sketched 
some  of  the  figures  of  the  townsfolk  staring  at  the  manifesto, 
with  the  old-fashioned  Ram  Inn  for  a  background — a  pictu- 
resque gable  enough. 

Our  meal  was  just  over,  when,  somewhat  to  our  surprise,  our 
friend  Mr.  Bradgate,  the  lawyer,  returned  to  the  Ringwood 
Arms.  He  wore  a  disturbed  countenance.  He  asked  what  he 
could  have  for  dinner  ?  Mutton,  neither  hot  nor  cold.  Hum  ! 
That  must  do.  So  he  had  not  been  invited  to  dine  at  the  Park? 
We  rallied  him  with  much  facetiousness  on  this  disappointment. 

Litile  Bradgate's  eyes  started  with  wrath.  "  What  a  churl 
the  little  black  fellow  is !"  he  cried.  "  1  took  him  his  papers. 
I  talked  with  hiai  till  dinner  was  laid  in  the  very  room  where 
we  were.  French  beans  and  neck  of  venison — I  saw  the  house- 
keeper and  his  man  bring  them  in  !  And  Mr.  Woolcomb  did 
not  so  much  as  ask  me  to  sit  down  to  dinner — but  told  me  to 
come,  again  at  nine  o'clock.  Confound  this  mutton — it 's  neither 
hot  nor  cold  !     The. little  ekinftint !"     The  glassea  of  fiery  sherry 


ON    IJI8    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  487 

which  Bradgate  now  swallowed  served  rather  to  choke  than 
appease  the  lawyer.  We  laughed,  and  this  jocularity  angered 
him  more.  M  Oh,''  said  he,  *  J  am  not  the  only  person  Wool- 
comb  was  rude  to.  He  was  in  a  dreadful  ill-temper.  He 
abused  his  wife :  and  when  he  read  somebody's  name  in  the 
strangers1  book,  I  promise  you,  Firmin,  he  abused  yo4».  I  had  a 
mind  to  say  to  him,  k  Sir,  Mr.  Firmin  is  dining  at  the  Ring- 
wood  Arms,  and  I  will  tell  him  what  you  say  of  him.'  What 
India-rubber  mutton  this  is  !  What  villanons  sherry  ?  Go 
back  to  him  at  nine  o'clock,  indeed  !  Be  hanged  to  his  impu- 
dence. !" 

"  You  must  not  abuse  Woolcomb  before  Firmin."  said  one  of 
our  party.  "  Philip  is  so  fond  of  his  cousin's  husband  that  he 
can  not  bear  to  hear  the  black  man  abused." 

This  was  not  a  very  brilliant  joke,  but  Philip  grinned  at  it 
with  much  savage  satisfaction. 

"Hit  Woolcomb  as  hard  as  you  please,  he  has  no  friends  here, 
Mr.  Bradgate,'  growled  Philip.  41  So  he  is  rude  to  his  lawyer, 
is  he  V" 

"  J  tell  you  he  is  worse  than  the  old  earl,"  cried  the  indignant 
Bradgatc.  "  At  least  the  old  man  was  a  Peer  or  England,  and 
could  be  a  gentleman  when  he  wished.  But  to  be  bullied  by  a 
fellow  who  might  be  a  black  footman,  or  ought  to  be  sweeping  a 
crossing  !     It 's  monstrous  !" 

4i  Don't  speak  ill  of  a  man  and  a  brother,  Mr.  Bradgatc. 
Woolcomb  can't  help  his  complexion." 

"  But  he  can  help  his  confounded  impudence,  and  shan't 
practice  it  on  toe/"  the  attorney  cried. 

As  Bradgate  called  out  from  his  box.  puffing  and  fuming, 
friend  J.  J.  was  scribbling  in  the  little  sketch-book  which  he 
always  carried.  He  smiled  over  his  work.  "  I  know,"  he  said, 
"  the  Black  Prince  well  enough.  I  have  often  seen  him  driving 
his  chestnut  mares  in  the  Park,  with  that  bewildered  white  wife 
by  his  side.  I  am  sure  that  woman  is  miserable,  and,  poor 
thing !— " 

il>  Serve  her  right !  What  did  an  English  lady  mean  by  mar- 
rying such  a  fellow  !"  ci  ies  Bradgate. 

"  A  fellow  who  does  not  ask  his  lawyer  to  dinner  !"  remarks 
one  of  the  company;  perhaps  the  reader's  very  humble  servant. 
"But  what  an  imprudent  lawyer  he  has  chosen — a  lawyer  who 
speaks  his  mind." 

"  1  have  spoken  my  mind  to  his  betters,  and  be  hanged  to 
him  !  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  be  afraid  of  him  ?"  bawls  the 
irascible  solicitor. 

"  Contempsi  Catilince  gladios — do  you  remember  the  old  quo- 
tation at  school,  Philip  ?"  And  here  there  was  a  break  in  our 
conversation,  for,  chancing  to  look  at  friend  J.  J.'s  sketch-book", 
we  saw  that  he  had  made  a  wonderful  little  drawing,  represent- 
ing 'Woolcomb    and  Woolcoinb?s    wife,  grooms,  phaeton,    and 


488  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

chestnut  mares,  as  they  were  to  be  seen  any  afternoon  in  Hyde 
Park  during  the  London  season. 

Admirable  !  Capital!  Everybody  at  once  knew  the  likeness 
of  the  du.«ky  charioteer.  Jracundus  himself  smiled  and  snig- 
gered over  it.  "  Unless  you  behave  yourself,  Mr.  Bradgate, 
Ridley  will  make  a  picture  of  you''  says  Philip.  Bradgrate 
made  a  comical  face  and  retreated  into  his  box,  of  which  he 
pretended  to  draw  the  curtain.  But  the  sociable  little  man  did 
not  Ion*;  remain  in  his  retirement ;  he  emerged  from  it  in  a  short 
time,  his  wine  decanter  in  his  hand,  and  joined  our  little  party  ; 
and  then  we  fell  to  talking  of  old  times;  and  we  all  remembered 
a  famous  drawing  by  H.  B.,  of  the 'late  Earl  of  Ringwood,  in 
the  old-fashioned  swallow-tailed  coat  and  tight  trowsers,  on  the 
old-fashioned  horse,  with  the  old-fashioned  groom  behind  him, 
as  he  used  to  be  seen  pounding  along  Rotten  Row. 

44 1  speak  my  mind,  do  I  V"  says  Mr.  Bradgate,  presently-.  "  I 
know  somebody  who  spoke  his  mind  to  that  old  man,  and  who 
would  have  been  better  off  if  he  had  held  his  tongue." 

44  Come,  tell  me,  Bradgate,"  cried  Philip.  "  It  is  all  over  and 
past  now.  Had  Lord  Ringwood  left  me  something?  1  declare 
J  thought  at  one  time  that  he  intended  to  do  so." 

44  Nay,  has  not  your  friend  here  been  rebuking  me  for  speak- 
ing my  mind  V  1  am  going  to  be  as  mum  as  a  mouse.  Let  us 
talk  about  the  election,"  and  the  provoking  lawyer  would  say 
no  more  on  a  subject  possessing  a  dismal  interest  for  poor  Phil. 

41  I  have  no  more  right  to  repine,"  said  that  philosopher,  uthan 
a  man  would  have  who  drew  number  x  in  the  lottery,  when  the 
winning  ticket  was  number  y.  Let  us  talk,  as  you  say,  about 
the  election.     Who  is  to  oppose  Mr.  Woolcomb  V" 

Mr.  Bradgate  believed  a  neighboring  squire,  Mr.  Hornblow, 
was  to  be  the  candidate  put  forward  against  the  Ringwood  nom- 
inee. 

44  Hornblow  T  what,  Hornblow  of  Grey  Friars  ?"  cries  Philip. 
"  A  better,  k-llow  never  lived.  In  this  case  he  shall  have  our 
vote  and  interest ;  and  I  think  we  ought  to  go  over  and  take 
another  dii  ner  at  the  '  Ram.' " 

The  new  candidate  actually  turned  out  to  be  Philip's  old 
school  and  college  friend,  Mr.  Hornblow.  After  dinner  we  met 
him  with  a  staff  of  canvassers  on  the  tramp  through  the  little 
town.  Mr.  Hornblow  was  paying  his  respects  to  such  trades- 
men as  had  their  shops  yet  open.  Next  day  being  market-day, 
he  proposed  to  canvass  Xhe  market-people.  t4  L(  I  meet  the 
black  niii-.  Finnin."  said. the  burly  squire,  44 1  think  I  can  chalf 
him  off  his  legs.     He  is  a  bad  one  at  speaking,  1  am  told." 

As  if  the  tongue  of  Plato  would  have  prevailed  in  Whipham 
and  against  the  nominee  of  the  great  house!  The  hour  was 
late,  to  be  sure,  but  the  companions  of  Mr.  Hornblow  on  his  can- 
vass argued  ill  ot'  his  success  after  halt  an  hour's  walk  at  his 
heels.      Baker  Jones  would  not  promise  no  how:  that  meant 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


489 


Jones  would  vote  for  the  Castle,  Mr.  Hornblow's  legal  aide-de- 
camp, Mr.  Batlev,  was  forced  to  allow.  Butcher  Brown  was 
having  his  tea— his  shrill-voiced  wife  told  us,  looking  out  from 
her  cr&zed  back  parlor  :  Brown  would  vote  for  the  Castle.  _  Sad- 
dler^Briggs  would  see  about  it.  Grocer  Adams  fairly  said  he  . 
would  vote  against  us— against  wsf— against  Hornblow,  whose 
part  we  were  taking  already.  I  fear  the  flattering  promises  of 
support  of  a  great  body  of  free  and  unbiassed  electors,  which 
had  induced  Mr.  Hornblow  to  come  forward  and,  etc.,  were  but 
inventions  of  that  little  lawyer,  Batley,  who  found  his  account 
in  havinn-  a  contest  in  the  borough.  When  the  polling-day  came 
—you  see,  I  disdain  to  make  any  mysteries  in  this  simple  and 
veracious  story— Mi*.  Grenviele  Woolcomb,  whose  solicitor 
and  a^ent  spoke  for  him— Mr.  Grenville  Woolcomb,  who  could 
not  spell  or  speak  two  sentences  of  decent  English,  and  whose 
character  for  dulness,  ferocity,  penuriousness,  jealousy,  almost 
fatuity,  was  notorious  to  all  the  world— was  returned  by  an  im- 
mense majority,  and  the  country  gentleman  brought  scarce  a 
hundred  votes  to  the  poll. 

We,  who  were  in  nowise  engaged  in  the  contest,  nevertheless 
found 'amusement  from  it  in  a  quiet  country  place  where  little 
else  was  stirrin*.     We  came  over  once  or  twice  from  Periwin- 
kle bay.     We  mounted  Hornblow's  colors  openly.     We  drove 
up  ostentatiously  to  the  Ram,  forsaking  the  Fvingwood  Arms, 
where  Mr.  Grenvilee  Woolcomr's  committee-room   was 
now  established  in  that  very  coffee-room  where  we  have  dined 
in  Mr.  Bradgatfc's  company.     We  warmed  in  the  contest.     We 
met  Bradoate  and  his  principal  more  than  once,  and  our  Mon> 
ta<rues  and  Capulets  defied  each  other  in  the  public  street.     It 
was  fine  to  see  Philip's  great  figure  and  noble  scowl  when  he  met 
Woolcorab  at  the  canvass.     Gleams  of  mulatto  hate  quivered 
from  the  eyes  of  the  little  captain.     Darts  of  fire  flashed  from 
beneath  Philip's  eyebrows  as  he  elbowed  his  way  forward,  and 
hustled  Woolcomb'off  the  pavement.     Mr.  Philip  never  disguised 
any  sentiment  of  his.     Hate  the  little  ignorant  spiteful  vulgar, 
avaricious  beast?     Of  course  I  hate  him,  and  I  should  like  to 
•pitch  him  into  the  river.     Oh,  Philip  I  Charlotte  pleaded.     But 
there  was  no  reasoning  with  this  savage  when  in  wrath.     1  de- 
plored, though  perhaps  I  was  amused  by,  his  ferocity. 
P  The  local  paper  on  our  side  was  filled  with  withering  epigrams 
against  this 'poor  Woolcomb,  of  which,  I  suspect,  Phi hp  was  the 
author.     I  think  I  know  that  fierce  style  and  tremendous  invec- 
tive    'In  the  man  whom  he  hates  he  can  see  no  good ;  and  in  his 
friend  no  fault.     When  we  met  Bradgate  apart  from  his  principal 
we 'were  friendly  enough.     He  said  we  had  no  chance  in  the  con- 
Test      He  did  not  conceal  his  dislike  and  contempt  for  his  client. 
He  amused  us  in  later  days  (when  he  actually  became  Philip  s 
man  of  law)  by  recounting  anecdotes  of  Woolcomb,  his  fury,  his 
•42 


4D0  THE   ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

je^ousy,  his  avarice,  his  brutal  behavior.  Poor  Agnes  had  mar- 
ried for  money,  and  he  gave  her  none.  Old  Twysden,  in  giving 
his  daughter  to  this  man,  had  hoped  to  have  the  run  of  a  fine 
house ;  to  ride  in  Woolcomb's  carriages,  and  feast  at  his  table. 
But  Woolcomb  was  so  stingy  that  he  grudged  the  meat  which  his 
wife  ate,  and  would  give  none  to  her  relations.  He  turned  those 
relations  out  of  his  doors.  Talbot  and  Ringwood  Twysden,  he 
drove  them  both  away.  He  lost  a  child  because  he  would  not 
send  for  a  physician.  His  wife  never  forgave  him  that  meanness. 
Her  hatred  for  him  became  open  and  avowed.  They  parted,  and 
she  led  a  life  into  which  we  will  look  no  farther.  She  quarrelled 
with  parents  as  well  as  husband.  "  Why,"  she  said,  u  did  they 
sell  me  to  that  man  ?"  Why  did  she  sell  herself?  She  required 
little  persuasion  from  father  and  mother  when  she  committed 
that  crime.  To  be  sure  they  had  educated  her  so  well  to  worldli- 
ness  that  when  the  occasion  came  she  was  ready. 

We  used  to  see  this  luckless  woman,  with  her  horses  and 
servants  decked  with  Woolcomb's  ribbons,  driving  about  the  little 
town,  and  making  feeble  efforts  to  canvass  the  towns-people. 
They  all  knew  how  she  and  her  husband  quarrelled.  Reports 
came  very  quickly  from  the  hall  to  the  town.  Woolcomb  had 
not  been  at  Whipham  a  week  when  people  began  to  hoot  and 
jeer  at  him  as  he  passed  in  his  carriage.  "  Think  how  weak  you 
must  be,"  Bradgate  said,  "  when  we  can  win  this  horse  !  I  wish 
he  would  stay  away,  though.  We  could  manage  much  better 
without  him.  He  has  insulted  I  do  n't  know  how  many  free  and 
independent  electors,  and  infuriated  others,  because  he  will  not 
give  them  beer  when  they  come  to  the  house.  If  Woolcomb 
would  stay  in  the  place,  and  we  could  have  the  election  next 
year,  I  think  your  man  might  win.  But,  as  it  is,  he  may  as  well 
give  in,  and  spare  the  expense  of  a  poll."  Meanwhile  Hornblow 
was  very  confident.  We  believe  what  we  wish  to  believe.  It  is 
marvellous  what  faith  an  enthusiastic  electioneering  agent  can 
inspire  in  his  client.  At  any  rate,  if  Hornblow  did  not  win  this 
time,  he  would  at  the  next  election.  The  old  Ringwood  domina- 
tion in  Whipham  was  gone  henceforth  for  ever. 

When  the  day  of  election  arrived  you  may  be  sure  we  came 
over  from  Periwinkle  bay  to  see  the  battle.  By  this  time  Philip 
had  grown  so  enthusiastic  in  Hornblow's  cause — (Philip,  by  the 
way,  never  would  allow  the  possibility  of  a  defeat) — that  he  had 
his  children  decked  in  the  Hornblow  ribbons,  and  drove  from 
the  bay,  wearing  a  cockade  as  large  as  a  pancake.  He,  I,  and 
Ridley  the  painter,  went  together  in  a  dog-cart.  We  were  hope- 
ful, though  we  knew  the  enemy  was  strong;  and  cheerful,  though, 
ere  we  had  driven  five  miles,  the  rain  began  to  fall. 

Philip  was  very  anxious  about  a  certain  great  roll  of  paper 
which  we  carried  with  us.  When  I  asked  him  what  it  contained, 
he  said  it  was  a  gun  ;  which  was  absurd.  Ridley  smiled  in  his 
silent  way.     When  the  rain  came,  Philip  cast  a  cloak  over  his 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH   THE   WORLD.  491 

artillery,  and  sheltered  bis  powder.     We  little  guessed  at  the 
time  what  strange  game  his  shot  would  bring  down. 

When  we  reached  Whipham  the  polling  had  continued  for 
some  hours*.  The  confounded  black  miscreant,  as  Philip  called 
his  cousin's  husband,  was  at  the  head  of  the  poll,  and  with  every 
hour  his  majority  increased.  The  free  and  independent  electors 
did  not  seem  to  be  in  the  least  influenced  by  Philip's  articles  in 
the  county  paper,  or  by  the  placards  which  our  side  had  pasted 
over  the  little  town,  and  in  which  freemen  were  called  upon  to  do 
their  duty,  to  support  a  fine  old  English  gentleman,  to  submit  to 
no  castle  nominee,  and  so  forth.  The  pressure  of  the  Ringwood 
steward  and  bailiffs  was  too  strong.  However  much  they  dis- 
liked the  black  man,  tradesman  after  tradesman,  and  tenant 
after  tenant,  came  up  to  vote  for  him.  Our  drums  and  trumpets 
at  the  Ram  blew  loud  defiance  to  the  brass-band  at  the  Ringwood 
Arms.  From  our  balcony,  I  flatter  myself,  we  made  much  finer 
speeches  than  the  Ringwood  people  could  deliver.  Hornblow 
was  a  popular  man  in  the  county.  When  he  came  forward  to 
speak  the  market-place  echoed  with  applause.  The  farmers  and 
small  tradesmen  touched  their  hats  to  him  kindly,  but  slunk  off 
sadly  to  the  polling-booth  and  voted  according  to  order.  A  fine, 
healthy,  handsome,  red-cheeked  squire,  our  champion's  j&ersonal 
appearance  enlisted  all  the  ladies  in  his  favor. 

"If  the  two  men,"  bawled  Philip,  from  the  Ram  window, 
"  could  decide  the  contest  with  their  coats  off  before  the  market- 
house  yonder,  which  do  you  think  would  win — the  fair  man  or 
the  darkey  ?"  (Loud  cries  of  "  Hornblow  for  iver  !"  or,  "  Mr. 
Philip,  we  '11  have  yetv  /")  "  But,  you  see,  my  friends,  Mr. 
Woolcomb  does  not  like  a  fair  fight.  Why  does  n't  he  show  at 
the  Ringwood  Arms  and  speak  ?  I  don't  believe  he  can  speak 
—not  Euglish.  Are  you  men?  Are  you  Englishmen?  Are 
you  white  slaves  to  be  sold  to  that  fellow  ?"  (Immense  uproar. 
Mr.* Finch,  the  Ringwood  agent,  in  vain  tries  to  get  a  hearing 
from  the  balcony  of  the  Ringwood  Arms.)  "Why  does  not  Sir 
John  Ringwood— my  Lord  Ringwood  now— come  down  among 
his  tenantry  and  back  the  man  he  has  eent  down  ?  I  suppose 
he  is  ashamed  to  look  his  tenants  in  the  face.  I  should  be,  if  I 
ordered  them  to  do  such  a  degrading  job;  You  know,  gentle- 
men, that  I  am  a  Ringwood  myself.  My  grandfather  lies  buried 
—no,  not  buried— in  yonder  church.  His  tomb  is  there.  His 
body  lies, on  the  glorious  field  of  Busaco !"  ("  Hurray  !")  "I 
am  a  Ringwood  1"  (Cries  of  "  Hoo— down.  No  Ringwoods 
year.  We  wunt  have  un  !")  "  And,  before  George,  if  I  had  a 
vote,  I  would  give  it  for  the  gallant,  the  good,  the  admirable, 
the  excellent  Hornblow  !  Some  one  holds  up  the  state  of  the 
poll,  and  Woolcomb  is  ahead !  I  can  only  say,  electors  of . Whip- 
ham,  the  more  shame  for  you  /"  "  Hooray  1  Bravo  !"  The 
boys,  the  people,  the  shouting  are  all  on  our  side.  The  voting, 
I  regret  to  say,  steadily  continues  in  favor  of  the  enemy. 


492  THE   ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

As  Philip  was  making  his  speech  an  immense  banging  of  drums 
and  blowing  of  trumpets  arose  from  the  balcony  of  the  Ring- 
wood  Arms,  and  a  something  resembling  the  song  of  triumph 
called  "  See,  the  Conquering  Hero  comes !"  was  performed  by 
the  opposition  orchestra.  The  lodge-gates  of  the  park  were  now 
decorated  with  the  Ringwood  and  Woolcomb  flags.  They  were 
flung  open,  and  a  dark-green  cnariot,  with  four  gray  horses,  is- 
sued from  the  park.  On  the  chariot  was  an  earl's  coronet,  and 
thepeople  looked  rather  scared  as  it  came  toward  us,  and  said, 
"  Do'ee  look,  now,  't  is  my  lard's  own  post-chaise !"  On  former 
days  Mr.  Woolcomb  and  his  wife,  as  his  aide-de-camp,  had  driven 
through  the  town  in  an  open  barouche,  but,  to-day  being  rainy, 
preferred  the  shelter  of  the  old  chariot,  and  we  saw  presently 
within  Mr.  Bradgate,  the  London  agent,  and  by  his  side  the 
darkling  figure  of  Mr.  Woolcomb.  He  had  passed  many  ago- 
nizing hours,  we  were  told  subsequently,  in  attempting  to  learn 
a  speech.  He  cried  over  it.  He  never  could  get  it  by  heart. 
He  swore  like  a  frantic  child  at  his  wife,  who  endeavored  to 
teach  him  his  lesson. 

"flow's  the  time,  Mr.  Briggs !"  Philip  said  to  Mr.  B.,  our 
lawyer's  clerk,  and  the  intelligent  l>r'iLrurs  sprang  down  stairs  to 
obey  hia  orders*.  Clear  the  road  there  !  make  way  !  was  heard 
from  the  crowd  below  us.  The  uates  of  our  inn  court-yard, 
which  had  been  closed,  were  suddenly  flung  open,  and  amidst 
the  roar  of  the  multitude  there  issued  out  a  cart,  drawn  by  two 
donkeys  and  driven  by  a  negro,  beasts  and  man  all  wearing 
Wooleomb's  colors.  In  the  cart  was  fixed  a  placard,  on  which 
a  most  undeniable  likeness  of  Mr.  Woolcomb  was  designed,  who 
was  made  to  say,  "  Vote  for  mk  !  Am  I  not  a  Max  a\d  a 
Bkudder  V"  This  cart  trotted  out  of  the  yard  of  the  Ram, 
and,  with  a  cortege  of  shouting  boys,  advanced  into  the  market- 
place, which  Mr.  Wooleomb's  carriage  was  then  crossing.      t       x 

Before  the  market-house  stands  the  statue  of  the  late  earl, 
whereof  mention  lias  been  made.  In  his  peer's  robes,  a  hand 
extended,  he  points  toward  his  park  gates.  An  inscription,  not 
more  mendacious  than  many  other  epigraphs,  records  his  rank, 
age,  virtues,  and  the  esteem  in  which  the  people  of  Whipham 
held  him.  The  mulatto  who  drove  the  team  of  donkeys  was  an 
itinerant  tradesman,  who  brought  fish  from  the  bay  to  the  little 
town  ;  a  jolly  wag,  a  fellow  of indiflerent  character,  a  frequenter 
of  all  the  ale-houses  in  the  neighborhood,  and  rather  celebrated 
for  his  skill  as  a  bruiser.  He  and  his  steeds  streamed  with 
Woolcomb  ribbons.  With  ironical  shouts  df  "  Woolcomb  for 
ever  !"  Yellow  Jack  urged  his  cart  toward  the  chariot  with  the 
white  horses.  He  took  off  his  hat  with  mock  respect  to  the  can- 
didate sitting  within  the  green  chariot.  From  the  balcony  of 
the  Ram  we  could  see  the  two  vehicles  approaching  each  other; 
and  Yellow  .lack  waving  his  ribboned  hat,  kicking  his  bandy 
legs  here  and  there,  and  urging  on  his  donkeys      \\  hat  with  the 


ON   HIS   WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD.  493 

roar  of  the  people  and  the  banging  and  trumpeting  of  the  rival 
bands,  we  could  hear  but  little  ;  but  I  saw  Woolcomb  thrust  his 
yellow  head  out  of  his  chaise-window — he  pointed  toward  that 
impudent  donkey-cart,  and  urged,  seemingly,  his  postilions  to 
ride  it  down.  Plying  their  whips,  the  post-boys  galloped  toward 
Yellow  Jack  and  his  vehicle,  a  yelling  crowd  scattering  from 
before  the  horses,  and  rallying  behind  them,  to  utter  execrations 
at  Woolcomb.  His  horses  were  frightened,  no  doubt:  for  just 
as  Yellow  Jack  wheeled  nimbly  round  one  side  of  the  Ringwood 
statue,  Woolcomb's  horses  were  all  huddled  together  and  plungJ 
ing  in  confusion  beside  it,  the  fore-wheel  came  in  abrupt  collision 
with  the  stone- work  of  the  statue-railing;  and  then  we  saw  the 
vehicle  turn  over  altogether,  one  of  the  wheelers  down  with  its 
rider,  and  the  leaders  kicking,  plunging,  lashing  out  right  and 
left,  wild  and  maddened  with  fear.  Mr.  Philip's  countenance,  I 
am  bound  to  sav,  wore  a  most  guilty  and  queer  expression. 
This  accident,  this  collision,  this  injury,  perhaps  death  of  Wool- 
comb and  his  lawyer,  arose  out  of  our  fine  joke  about  the  Man 
and  the  Brother. 

We  dashed  down  the  stairs  from  the  Ram — Hornblow,  Philip, 
and  half  a  dozen  more — and  made  a  way  through. the  crowd 
toward  the  carriage,  with  its  'prostrate  occupants.  The  mob 
made  way  civilly  for  the  popular  candidate — the  losing  candi- 
date. When  we  reached  the  chaise  the  traces  had  been  cut, 
the  horses  were  free,  the  fallen  postilion  was  up  and  rubbing 
his  leg,  and  as  soon  as  the  wheelers  were  taken  out  of  the  chaise 
Woolcomb  emerged  from  it.  He  had  said  from  within  (accom- 
panying his  speech  with  many  oaths,  which  need  not  be  repeated, 
and  showing  a  just  sense  of  his  danger),  "  Cut  the  traces,  hang 
you!  And  take  the  horses  away;  I  can  wait  until  they  're  gone. 
J  'm  sittin'  bn  my  lawyer;  I  "ain't  goin'  to  have  my  head  kicked 
oil'  by  those  wheelers."  And  just  as  we  reached  the  fallen  post- 
cbaise  he  emerged  from  it,  laughing,  and  saying,  "  Lie  still,  you 
old  beggar  !"  to  Mr.  Bradgate,  who  was  writhing  underneath  him. 
His  issue  from  the  carriage  was  received  with  shouts  of  laughter, 
which  increased  prodigiously  when  Y"ellow  Jack,  nimbly  clam- 
bering up  fhe  statue-railings,  thrust  the  outstretched  arm  of  the 
statue  through  the  picture  of  the  Man  and  the  Brother,  and  left 
that  cartoon  flapping  in  the.  air  over  Woolcomb's  head. 

Then  a  shout  arose,  the  like  of  which  has  seldom  been  heard 
in  that  quiet  little  town.  Then  Woolcomb,  who  had  been  quite 
good-humored  as  he  issued  out  of  the  broken  post-chaise,  began 
to  shriek,  curse,  and  revile  more  shrilly  than  before  ;  and  was 
heard,  in  the  midst  of  his  oaths  and  wrath,  to  say,  "  He  would 
give  any  man  a  shillin'  who  would  bring  him  down  that  con- 
founded thing!"  Then  scared,  bruised,  contused,  confused,  poor 
Mr.  Bradgate  came  out  of  the  carriage,  his  employer  taking  not 
the  least  notice  of  him. 

Hornblow  hoped  Woolcomb  was  not  hurt,  on  which  the  little 


494  THE    ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

m 

gentleman  turned  round,  and  said,  "  Hurt?  no  ;  who  are  you  ? 
Is  no  fellah  goin'  to  bring  me  down  that  confounded  thing?  I  '11 
give  a  shillin',  I  say,  to  the  fellah  who  does !" 

■  A  shilling  is  offered  for  that  picture  !"  shouts  Philip,  with  a 
red  face,  and  wild  with  excitement.  "  Who  will  take  a  whole 
shilling  for  that  beauty  ?" 

On  which  Woolcomb  began  to  scream,  curse,  and  revile  more 
bitterly  than  before.  "  You  here  ?  Hang  you,  why  are  you 
here  ?  Don't  come  bullyin'  me.  Take  that  fellah  away,  some 
of  you  fellahs.  Bradgate,  come  to  my  committee-room.  I  won't 
stay  here,  I  say.  Let 's  have  the  beast  of  a  carriage,  and — 
Well,  what 's  up  now  ?" 

While  he  was  talking,  shrieking,  and  swearing  half  a  dozen 
shoulders  in  the  crowd  had  raised  the  carriage  up  on  its  three 
wheels.  The  panel  which  had  fallen  toward  the  ground  had 
split  against  a  stone,  and  a  great  gap  was  seen  in  the  side.  A 
lad  was  about  to  thrust  his  hand  into  the  orifice  when  Woolcomb 
turned  upon  him. 

"  Hands  off,  you  little  beggar  !"  he  cried,  "  no  priggin'!  Drive 
away  some  of  these  fellahs,  you  post-boys!  Don't  stand  rubbin' 
your  knee  there,  you  great  fool.  What 's  this  V"  and  he  thrust 
his  own  hand  into  the  place  where  the  boy  had  just  been  ma- 
rauding. 

In  the  old  travelling  carriages  there  used  to  be  a  well  or  sword- 
<\im\  in  which  travellers  used  to  put  swords  and  pistols  in  days 
when  such  weapons  of  defence  were  needful  on  the  road.  Out 
of  this  sword-case  of  Lord  llingwood's  old  post-chariot  Wool- 
comb did  not  draw  a  sword  but  a  foolscap  paper  folded  and  tied 
with  a  red  tape.  And  he  began  to  read  the  superscription — 
"  Will  of  the  Right  Honorable  John,  Earl  of  Kingwood.  Brad- 
gate,  Smith,  and  Burrows." 

"God  bless  my  soul!  It's  the  will  he  had  back  from  my 
office,  and  which  I  thought  he  had  destroyed.  My  dear  fellow, 
I  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart!"  And  herewith  Mr. 
Bradgate,  the  lawyer,  began  to  shake  Philip's  hand  with  much 
warmth.  M  Allow  me  to  look  at  that  paper.  Yes,  this  is  in  my 
handwriting.  Let  us  come  into  the  Kingwood  Arms — the  Ram 
— anywhere,  and  read  it  to  you  !" 

.  .  .  Here  we  looked  up  to  the  balcony  of  the  Ringwood  Arms, 
and  beheld  a  great  placard  announcing  the  state  of  the  poll  at  1 
o'clock. 

Woolcomb 216 

Horn  blow 92 

M  We  are  beaten,"  said  Mr.  Hornblow,  very  good-naturedly. 
M  We  may  take  our  flag  down.  Mr.  Woolcomb,  I  congratulate 
you." 

M  I  knew  we  should  do  it,"  said  Mr.  Woolcomb;  putting  out  a 
little  yellow-kidded  hand.  "  Had  all  the  votes  beforehand — 
knew  we  should  do  the  trick.     I  say.     Hi !  you — Whatdyoucall- 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE   WORLD-  495 

em — Bradgate  !  What  re  it  about,  that  will  ?  It  does  not  do 
any  good  to  that  beggar,  does  it?"  and  with  laughter  and  shouts, 
and  cries  of  "  Woolcomb  for  ever !"  and  "  Give  us  something  to 
drink,  your  Honor  I"  the  successful  candidate  marched  into  his 
hotel. 

And  was  the  tawny  Woolcomb  the  fairy  who  was  to  rescue 
Philip  from  grief,  debt,  and  poverty  ?  Yes.  And  the  old  post- 
chaise  of  the  late  Lord  Ringwood  was  the  fairy  chariot.  You 
have  read  in  a  past  chapter  how  the  old  lord,  being  transported 
with  anger  against  Philip,  desired  his  lawyer  to  bring  back  a 
will  in  which  he  had  left  a  handsome  legacy  to  the  young  man, 
as  his  mother's  soi*.  My  lord  had^  intended  to  make  a  provision 
for  Mrs.  Firmin,  when  she  was  his  dutiful  niece,  and  yet  under 
his  roof.  When  she  eloped  with  Mr.  Firmin,  Lord  Ringwood 
vowed  he  would  give  his  niece  nothing.  But  he  was  pleased 
with  the  independent  and  forgiving  spirit  exhibited  by  her  son; 
and,  being  a  person  of  much  grim  humor,  I  dare  say  cbfcckled 
inwardly  at  thinking  how  furious  the  Twysdens  would  be  when 
they  found  Philip  was  the  old  lord's  favorite.  Then  Mr.  Philip 
chose  to  be  insubordinate,  and  to  excite  the  wrath  of  his  great- 
uncle,  who  desired  to  have  his  will  back  again.  He  put  the 
document  into  his  carriage,  in  the  secret  box,  as  he  drove  away 
on  that  last  journey,  in  the  midst  of  which  death  seized  him. 
Had  he  survived,  wduld  he  have  made  another  will,  leaving  out 
all  mention  of  Philip?  WTho  shall  say?  My  lord  made  and 
cancelled  many  wills.  This  certainly,  duly  drawn  and  witnessed, 
was  the  last  he  ever  signed ;  and  by  it  Philip  is  put  in  possession 
of  a  sum  of  money  which  is  sufficient  to  insure  a  provision  for 
those  whom  he  loves.  Kind  readers,  I  know  not  whether  the 
fairies  be  rife  now,  or  banished  from  this  work-a-day  earth,  but 
Philip's  biographer. wishes  you  some  of  those  blessings  which 
never  forsook  Philip  in  his  trials:  a  dear  wife  and  children  to 
love  you,  a  true  friend  or  two  to  stand  by  you,  and  in  health  or 
sickness  a  clear  conscience  and  a  kindly  heart.  If  you  fall  upon 
the  way,  may  succor  reach  you !  And  may  you,  in  your  turn, 
have  help  and  pity  in  store  for  the  unfortunate  whom  you  over- 
take on  life's  journey  1 

Would  you  care  to  know  what  happened  to  the  other  person- 
ages of  our  narrative  ?  Old  Twysden  is  still  babbling  and 
bragging  at  clubs,  and  though  aged  is  not  the  least  venerable. 
He  has  quarrelled  with  his  son  for  not  calling  Woolcomb  out, 
when  that  unhappy  difference  arose  between  the  Black  Prince 
and  his  wife.  He  says  his  family  has  been  treated  with  cruel 
injustice  by  the  late  Lord  Ringwood,  but  as  soon  as  Philip  had  a 
little  fortune  left  him  he  instantly  was  reconciled  to  his  wife's 
nephew.  There  are  other  friends  of  Firmin's  who  were  kind 
enough  to  him  in  his  evil  days,  but  can  not  pardon  his  prosperity. 
Being  in  that  benevolent  mood  which  must  accompany  any 
leave-taking,  we  will  not  name  thes$  ill-wishers  of  Philip,  but 


496  THE   ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

wish  that  all  readers  of*his  story  may  have  like  reason  to -make 
some  of  their  acquaintances  angry. 

Our  dear  Little  SistSf  would  never  live  with  Philip  and  his 
Charlotte,  though  the  latter  specially,  and  with  all  her  heart,  be- 
sought Mrs.  Brandon  to  come  to  them.  That  pure,  and  useful, 
and  modest  life  ended  a  t'evf  year,*  .since.  She  died  of  a  fever 
caught  from  one  of  her  patients.  She  would  not  allow  Philip  or 
Charlotte  to  come  near  be*  She  said  she  was  justly  punished 
for  being  so  proud  as  to  refuse  to  live  with  them.  All  her  little 
store  she  left  to  Philip.  He  has  now  in  his  desk  the  five  guineas 
which  she  gave  him  at  his  marriage  ;  and  J.  J.  has  made  a  little 
picture  of  her,  with  her  sad  smile  and  her  sweet  face,  which  hangs 
in  Philip's  drawing-room,  where  father,  mother,  and  children  talk 
of  the  Little  Sister  as  though  she. were  among  them  still. 

She  was  dreadfully  agitated  when  the  news  came  from  New 
York  of  Doctor  Firmin's  second  inarriiLr«'-  "  His  second  ?  His 
third  !*  she  said.  "  The  villain,  the  villain  !"  That  strange  de- 
lusion which  we  have  described  as  sometimes  possessing  her, 
increased  in  intensity  after  this  news.  More  than  ever  she 
believed  that  Philip  was  her  own  child.  She  came  wildly  to 
him, and  cried  that  his  father- had  forsaken  them.  It  was  only 
when  she  was  excised  i hat  she  gave  utterance  to  this  opinion. 
Doctor  Goodenough  says  that  though  generally  silent  about  it,  it 
never  left  her. 

Upon  his  marriage  Dr.  Firmin  wrote  one  of  his  long  letters  to 
his  son  announcing  the  event,  lb-  described  the  wealth  of  the 
lady  (a  widow  from  Norfolk,  in  Virginia)  to  whom  he  was  about 
to  be  united.  He  wouid  pay  back,  ay,  with  interest,  every 
pound,  every  dollar,  every  cent  he  owed  hisson*  Was  the  lady 
wealthy  V      We  had  only  the  poor  doctor's  word. 

Three  months  after  his  marriage  he  died  of  yellow-fever  on  his 
wife's  estate.  It  was  then  the  Little  Sister  came  to  see  us  in 
widow's  mourning,  very  wild  and  flushed.  She  bade  our  servant 
say,  M  Mrs.  Firmin  was  at  the  door,"  to  the  astonishment  of  the 
man,  who  knew  her.  She  had  even  caused  a  mourning-card  to 
be  printed.  Ah,  there  is  rest  now  for  that  little  fevered  brain, 
and  peace,  let  us  pray,  for  that  fond,  faithful  heart. 

The  mothers  in  Philip's  household  and  mine  have  already  made 
a  match  between  our  children.  We  had  a  great  gathering  the 
other  day  at  Roehampton>  at  the  house  of  our  friend,  Mr.  Clive 
Newcome  (whose  tall  boy,  my  wife  says,  was  very  attentive  to 
our  Helen),  and,  having  been  educated  at  the  same  school,  we 
ever  so  long  at  dessert  telling  old  stories,  while  the  children 
danced  to  piano-music  on  the  lawn.  Dance  on  tUj$,lawn,  young 
folks,  while  the  elders  talk  in  the  shade  !  What  ?  i/The  night  is 
falling:  we  have  talked  enough  over  our  wine;  and  it  is  time  to 
go  home?  tiood-night.  GoodVnight,  friends,  old  and  young! 
The  night  will  fall:  the  stories  must  end:  and  the  best  frieods 
must  part.  » 


NEW^PTJB]        A.TIONS. 


NOW     HEAD 


C4rneral  Oi-«i. 


. 


Ajadre\v»'  M.< 

fill! 

liddlxxx'mmh 

vis  J-  ( 

illustrate*!,     i 


J  >rill, 

id  full  bound  i 

■ 


- 
Xln 


* 


The 

t    iniil>  and 


>lil2U 


90,  1804. 


EVANS  &  COGSYvELL, 


■ 


